The Grey Lord
by Megark
Summary: Upon discovering that both Light and Dark aren't what they seem, Harry must make a choice. "Philosophically interesting." -My Beta
1. Greysight

**AN: Hey all, this concept has been on my mind for almost 6 months now, and I finally finished the first chapter. I hope you like it! It starts right after the ministry raid in 5th year, if that wasn't clear. Enjoy!**

* * *

Harry allowed himself to be led back to Hogwarts, his mind flashing with the events he had just witnessed. Clear, clean images of Hermione collapsing, slashed by purple flames. Ron, white and choking, being throttled by weird brain tentacles. Harry himself being locked out of his own mind by Voldemort. And, most disturbing of all, Sirius, laughing and confident, toppling into the Veil.

Harry blindly followed Dumbledore through the Castle, still in shock, still recovering. Harry's eyes were not seeing the Castle as Harry remembered it, however, the colors were dull, the walls lifeless. The portraits lost their vibrancy, and were relegated to simply being shifting lines on the walls. Harry found that the missing steps and false walls that normally troubled him were rendered obvious. He wondered if that was because Dumbledore was there. Maybe the Castle could read Harry's distracted state and was changing to allow for his easy passing.

It didn't really matter.

Harry soon found himself sitting in Dumbledore's office, but the room was strangely different. Harry vaguely remembered strange whirring and spinning devices; odd reminders that Dumbledore had sensors for magical metrics that Harry couldn't even conceive of. But it was just a dull, possibly brown, desk sitting in the middle of a vaguely L shaped room. The strange lines on the wall that Harry suddenly remembered were the portraits were shifting back and forth, emanating the sort of white noise Harry associated with radios.

After a few minutes, Harry noticed that Dumbledore was looking at him expectantly.

"What? Did you say something, Professor?"

Dumbledore shifted a bit in his seat and peered at Harry from over his half-moon spectacles. "Is there something you wish to say to me?"

Harry frowned. Dumbledore sounded different somehow. His voice lacked the care and concern Harry had always heard before. Harry felt no desire to answer the question. And perhaps most strangely, Harry _felt_ the lack of a twinkle in Dumbledore's eye. Harry quickly looked his Headmaster up and down. Dumbledore's robe no longer sparkled. It was no longer the somehow cheery midnight blue that Harry remembered, but seemed to be a dreary, somber blue that felt more like gray.

"Well?" Dumbledore asked, his voice grating on Harry's nerves.

"What's happening to me, Professor?" Harry asked, his voice sounding raw and ragged, his hands still shaking from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse. "My vision is...off somehow. Things look-"

"Hopeless?" Dumbledore nodded mechanically. "I'm sure they do, my boy. After all, this is what happens when evil flourishes."

"No," Harry said, trying to make the old man understand, "I'm not seeing the way I normally do. I'm-"

"In shock." Dumbledore bridged his fingers and leaned forward. "My boy, you've just undergone a rather horrific shock, and-"

Harry tuned the grating voice out with a stern effort. He wasn't sure how much more of that awful, mechanical voice he could take. He could have sworn that Dumbledore's voice didn't used to sound like that. Harry reached up to rub his eyes.

"Sorry, sir?" Harry stood, "May I leave?"

Dumbledore looked genuinely shocked. "What? Why?"

"I, er, feel a bit off." Harry absently scratched at the back of his head. "I'd rather like to go to bed."

"Harry, I have something I really must tell you, first." Dumbledore looked up at Harry gravely. "I know it's hard, but you must fight through the pain you're feeling."

Was that...sarcasm?

"Sorry, sir, but I really need to go." Harry began to turn.

" _No!_ " Dumbledore's voice rang out commandingly, but Harry felt no desire to stop and turn back. "You will-"

Harry slammed the door behind him, the thudding reverberations vibrating in the silent staircase. He made his way down to the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office. The stone creature immediately leapt aside and Harry continued his uncomprehending journey. As he walked, Harry began trying to take stock of what he was experiencing, but whenever he felt close to an answer, he had another vivid shock of an image; Ron choking, Hermione collapsing, Sirius...falling. Definitely falling. Not dying. Falling.

Harry blinked and found himself standing in front of a frustrated looking Fat Lady.

"I said, ' _password',_ " she said, petulantly jutting out her lower lip.

"Er, right," Harry thought for a second, "Devil's Snare?"

The painting shook her head. "That was yesterday."

Harry groaned. "Look, I've been out for the past few hours, you know me, don't you?"

The Fat Lady folded her arms and steadfastly shook her head. "You know the rules, Harry Potter, no password, no entry!"

Harry sighed and sat down with his back against the wall of the Tower. Someone would come by eventually.

"Why the long face?"

Harry started, before realizing the voice was coming from the portrait. "Um, what?"

"You heard me, boy," she said, not unkindly, "What's got you all out of sorts?"

 _Where to begin?_ Harry thought to himself. "Well, someone I really… Honestly, a load of people I really care about are hurt now, because of me."

"Oh, dear, it can't be all that bad!" The Fat Lady clucked her tongue. "They'll be all right, won't they be?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. They were hurt pretty bad." He grit his teeth. "And there's one that I'm damn sure _won't_ be coming back." His eyes began to burn. "All because-"

"They love you, Harry," said a different voice.

Harry looked up. Ginny and Neville were standing in front of the portrait hole, looking a bit scratched up, but not nearly as bad as Harry had been expecting.

"We followed because we trust you, Harry," Ginny continued, with Neville nodding seriously behind her, "We made that choice."

Harry knew he was losing the battle with his tears. "But still, if-if I hadn't-" He felt a warm wetness trail down his cheek.

"No, Harry," Neville stepped in, "If V-Voldemort hadn't."

Harry looked up, stunned. "Did-did you just?"

Neville looked at the ground, then grinned up at Harry. "It's really not all that scary, is it?"

Harry, despite himself, chuckled. A few more tears broke free of his lashes, but he didn't care. "It's really not, Neville." He got up and clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Say, do you happen to know the password?"

* * *

It took a surprising amount of time for someone who knew the Gryffindor password to come walking through, and it was well into the wee hours of the morning when they finally got in. Neville had tottered up the stairs almost immediately, saying something about sleeping off his broken nose. Harry was waving Ginny up her own stairs, when he had an idea.

"Hey, Gin, can I talk to you?" he asked.

"Of-of course, Harry," Ginny said, a small tremor in her voice. She walked back to one of the rich couches, in front of the dying fireplace. When he was sitting next to her, she asked, "What's up?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. This was the problem with ideas in the heat of the moment. "Er," he began, "D'you remember your first year much?"

Ginny frowned and looked away. "No." After a moment, she looked back over, and her face softened a bit. "Rather, I try not to."

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry to ask you this, after all what's happened, but something… happened to me tonight, and you're the only person who might understand."

Ginny looked up sharply. "What did he do?"

Harry took a deep breath. "He possessed me."

Ginny gasped and put a hand on Harry's arm. "Oh no! I'm so sorry."

Harry nodded and his eyes scrunched at the memory. "I… couldn't control myself. My voice spoke without my permission. It said," he shook his head spasmodically, "terrible things. I said terrible things."

Ginny inched closer on the couch and her grip tightened.

"And the pain," Harry whispered, "The pain was too much. My whole body was… on fire. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't scream, I couldn't even blink."

Ginny squeezed his shoulder and rested her other hand on his forearm.

"Finally, I was able to throw him out." Harry sighed and noticed her closeness for the first time. "I-" He blinked. "Um, it was, uh, only through my thoughts of, er, my friends, that, uh, I could get rid of, er, him."

"Blimey, that's awful, Harry," Ginny said, her eyes large and soft, "I was never, erm," she turned and looked at the rug on the floor, "Fully awake when he possessed me."

Harry nodded. "The thing I need to ask you about is sort of… after that part." He squinted and scrunched his mouth over to one side. "When you woke up, did you see things the same?"

Ginny looked back and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Harry began, but faltered. How to say it? The colors were still muted. Ginny's normally fiery hair was a dim sort of maroon. The almost garish colors of the Common Room were dull and subtle. "See, everything's sort of… dim… now."

Ginny tilted her head, the frown deepening slightly.

"See, er," Harry glanced around, "Look at that tapestry."

Ginny looked over where he was pointing. The tapestry depicted a golden lion proudly roaring on a field of scarlet. The enchantment on it made it forever swaying on an imperceptible breeze. "I see it," she said, nodding.

Harry nodded. "I know what color it is. I _remember_ what color it is." He paused, and she looked back at him. "But I don't see that color now."

Ginny's concerned frown was back. "What do you see?"

Harry shrugged. "There's no color in it. Well," he amended, "Very little. It's sort of like the color of those dingy yellow plates your mom reserves for special company."

Ginny tilted her head.

"Oh! Before she washes them!" Harry clarified.

Ginny nodded in understanding, then looked back at the tapestry. The lion was as proud and golden as ever. "That's not good." She looked back. "Have you talked to Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry shook his head. "I went to Dumbledore's office right after, and then came straight here. Did you," he took a breath, "Did you ever see anything differently after coming out of possession?"

Ginny's mouth dropped slightly. "Oh. I see." She thought for a second. "I don't think so. I just sort of… _was_ somewhere. It was really eerie, actually." She frowned. "Wait." She snapped her fingers. "In the Chamber! It was only for a moment before I passed out, but I remember a brief glimpse of you stabbing that awful book with some sort of tooth. I remember because the book was a totally different color, almost gray, and your skin looked really ashy and gaunt."

Harry frowned. "So maybe this whole thing has something to do with the aftereffects of possession." He looked over at Ginny. "I don't suppose there's a book about this."

Ginny shrugged. "I just didn't want to remember anything, so I haven't looked into it at all." She shifted a bit, so that she and Harry's legs were touching. "Why the interest?"

Harry, noticing the contact, sputtered, "Um, well, see, I was in, er, Dumbledore's office." He cleared his throat. "And, um, you know how Dumbledore always sounds so encouraging and, well, genuine?"

Ginny glared playfully at Harry. "The most I've ever heard him is at dinners, giving speeches." She smacked him lightly on the arm. "You're the only student I know who's ever had more than a one word conversation with the guy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "But you know that tone his voice has, right? That grandfatherly tone?"

Ginny nodded. "Sure, go on."

Harry sighed. "It was gone. He sounded… mechanical. Sarcastic. His voice made me shudder." Harry looked towards the opposite wall. "It made me want to both run away and curse him into oblivion. It was," he looked back, "Scary."

Ginny's hand slid into his own, and she squeezed it reassuringly. "You're probably just in shock. Do I sound terrifying?"

Harry glanced down at her. "No. Not at all, you sound just the same, actually."

Ginny shrugged. "Sleep it off, Potter. You'll be fine in the morning."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "I hope so. I really hope so." He smirked. "Gray is such a boring color."

Ginny's eyebrow quirked up. "Was that humor? From you?"

Harry shrugged. "What can I say? I'm in a weird mood."

Ginny rested her head on Harry's shoulder and snuggled against it. "I like your weird mood."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Ginny's eyes closed and soon she was breathing deeply and slowly. Asleep.

Harry sighed mentally. He had really been looking forward to his bed tonight. Steeling himself in for a short, uncomfortable sleep, Harry closed his eyes.

* * *

"Oi! Potter! Wake up!"

Harry was wrenched from his nightmare and blinked into a bleary consciousness. A frowning Dean Thomas was glaring down at him. Harry looked over and Ginny was similarly waking up, rubbing the weariness from her eyes. Harry quickly glanced around the room that was, mercifully, devoid of Ron. Harry sighed. It looked bad all right. He frowned. Wait. Why did Dean care?

Harry looked up at his classmate. "What's up, Dean?"

"Now look here, you bloody-"

"Dean!" Ginny cut in, "What the bloody hell are you doing?!"

Dean gestured angrily at Harry. "Everyone bloody well knows, in my dorm, that I've got," he faltered, "Er, that I'm, um, interested in you."

"And you think the best way to go about it is to scream at my friend, in the middle of the Common Room?!" Ginny flared, standing up.

Dean took a step back. "Er, well, he bloody well knows better."

"Really?" Ginny asked, sneering like a pro at the terrified boy, "You really think that Harry Bloody Potter gives any part of a shit about whose pants you're trying to get into?"

The Common Room was starting to fill, and snickers were starting to become apparent. Dean glanced manically around, looking for any sort of respite from the red-head in front of him. "Er, well, you know, it's sort of a man, er, thing." His back bumped against the wall of the Common Room.

"You'd think," Ginny said slowly, skewering Dean with her eyes, "That to be worthy of a 'man-thing' as you so eloquently describe it, both parties would have to be _men_." She looked Dean up and down. "Sorry to say, but I've found you wanting, Mr Thomas."

There was a low hum of laughter around the Room.

"You bloody tart!" exclaimed the red-faced Dean, "You bloody said-"

"And now I don't," Ginny replied bitingly, "And I'll thank you to leave me and mine alone."

She turned and stalked out of the Common Room. Harry slowly stood and glanced at the shell-shocked and white-faced Dean. The silence was palpable, and Harry slowly made his way out of the room. He tried to send a comforting look at Dean, but the boy was too busy staring at the floor. Harry made it out of the portrait hole and wandered down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Ginny was already there, angrily tearing into a piece of toast.

Harry sat next to her in silence, not wanting her fury to be unleashed on him. After her voracious tearing of food became less terrifying, Harry said, "Sorry about that."

Ginny tossed her head, sending a long strand of red hair over her shoulder. "It's not you, Harry." She took a deep breath. "Maybe I'll tell you sometime." She glanced at him saucily. "Then again, maybe I won't."

Harry laughed, and a tightness he hadn't noticed in his stomach melted away. "I'm not sure I want to know, honestly. I'll take Voldemort over an angry Ginny any day."

Ginny's cheeks went a little pink, but she seemed mollified as she continued eating her breakfast.

Harry didn't eat much, but he ate what he could at Ginny's behest. He knew it wasn't enough, but after a while, the tightness returned to his stomach and he couldn't bring himself to eat anything more. Soon enough, Harry got up and left the Great Hall. Ginny offered to leave her half-full plate of delicious breakfast, but Harry urged her to stay and eat. He wanted to clear his head.

"Going somewhere, Potter?" snarled a _most_ unwelcome voice, just as Harry passed by the staircase just outside the Great Hall.

Harry turned and glared at Draco Malfoy. "As a matter of fact, Draco, I'm going to the hospital wing."

Draco adopted a faux-pitiful face. "Oh, is poor ickle Potty feeling sick?" Crabbe and Goyle, sounding like gravel in a cement mixer, chuckled approvingly.

"Actually, Malfoy," Harry returned, "I'm going to check on my friends, to see how they're faring after we _defeated_ your father."

Malfoy paled. "You didn't. You can't go off school grounds. You're lying!"

Harry shrugged and kept walking. "Believe what you want, Malfoy, but you won't need to tell your father about this." He glanced back. "He already knows."

Harry was hard-pressed to hold in his crowing laughter as he heard Malfoy's rage fade into the Great Hall. Harry's good mood carried him through the castle, as he easily made his way to the Hospital Wing. When he walked in, however, and saw Ron and Hermione laid up in beds, seemingly unconsciousness, his lightness faded back into a nervous tightness in his stomach. Harry walked up to Ron's bed and was taking in the fiery wheals that the brains had left when Madam Pomfrey walked up.

"Sort of reversed, isn't it Harry?" the matron asked, "Usually you're in the bed, and they're here to see you."

Harry's lips twitched at the attempt at levity, but it did little for him in the face of their comatose faces. "Will they be all right?"

Madam Pomfrey grew serious. "Ron will be right as rain in a few days. Hermione, though, is a bit trickier."

Harry glanced over at the nurse. "How d'you mean?"

"See, she was hit by a rather nasty little Dark curse," Madam Pomfrey explained, "And Dark curses have a particularly insidious side to them that, especially compounded with the severity of the curse in question, makes it...difficult to simply bounce back from."

Harry frowned. "Is there anything I can do?"

Madam Pomfrey considered the question. "You know what? It may do some good for her to see you. Here," she lifted her wand and pointed it at the comatose girl, " _Ennervate_."

Hermione's eyelids flickered, and her lips pursed. Some sort of gurgling sounded from her closed mouth. Harry moved forward and took her hand, softly stroking her knuckle with his thumb. "Hey, Hermione? You there?"

The girl stirred and seemed to be struggling with something. Harry squeezed her hand and kept muttering encouragement.

Finally, her eyelids opened, and Harry had never been happier to see her soft, brown eyes. "Hey there, Hermione, welcome back."

Madam Pomfrey quickly disappeared, giving the two some time alone.

Hermione smiled groggily up at Harry. "Mmmm, hey yourself." She winced. "Ooh, that burns." She placed a hand on her stomach. "Oh, right. The curse."

Harry grimaced. "Are you ok, should I get-"

"It's fine, Harry," Hermione said, trying to sit up a bit more, "I'm all right."

Harry finally let himself grin. "Brilliant. I've been really worried."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm in the safest place in all of England, Harry."

"Er, you didn't see..." Harry trailed off, "You didn't see yourself get hit. It was," he paused, "Worrying."

Hermione thought for a second. "I guess you're right. Sorry to worry you, Harry." She smiled apologetically.

"Oh, no," Harry said, "Worry me all you want if it means that you're all right."

Hermione just smiled in return and squeezed his hand.

They stood that way for a while, simple contact being more than sufficient in terms of communication. Harry glanced out of the window and onto the grounds. It was oddly surreal to see them blithely exist, as if nothing was different, as if everything was exactly the same as it had been yesterday. Well, maybe for the Lake and the Forest, things were the same. For Harry, however, things couldn't be more different.

There was something about the soft warmth of Hermione's hand that made Harry feel that things were all right again, that what happened last night was just a dream. Looking over the grounds, feeling that warmth, and after his conversation with Ginny, Harry was hard pressed to allow himself to feel the pain he knew was just hardly in the background. Finally, in this place of peace and rest, Harry allowed himself to think the sentence he had been avoiding all night.

 _Sirius was dead_.

Just three simple words, but three words that had the potential to make Harry completely unravel.

Perhaps Hermione felt his hand begin to shake, because she said, "What is it, Harry?"

Harry looked back down to her smiling face, and his eyes caught a look of the bandages that covered her new scar. Reality came crashing down, and Harry felt a burning wetness streaking down his face. "Sirius is dead."

Hermione squeezed his hand in shock, and her eyes widened. "No..." she trailed off, "That...can't..."

Harry squeezed back, unable to process the words that would make the situation better.

"He was always so..." Hermione's voice was trembling, "He just..."

"I know," managed Harry, his voice threatening to break, "It doesn't seem possible."

Hermione looked up at Harry, concern beginning to flood her eyes. "Harry, are you-?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I probably will be." Harry looked away, over the grounds again. "Neville said something last night that I needed to hear."

"What?" asked Hermione.

"He said that it wasn't my fault." Harry's voice trembled violently as he looked down at the ground. "He-he said that it w-was that...monster's." Harry's hand clenched, and Hermione's little cry went unheeded. "Voldemort. It's all his fault!" Harry snarled.

Suddenly, accompanying Harry's rush of anger, all the color that Harry's eyes had been missing came rushing back. Hermione's hair was a rich brown, and the bedsheets were a clinical off-white. Outside, the grounds exploded into lush color, vibrant almost to the point of pain, and Harry was forced to blink rapidly for several moments.

"Harry?"asked Hermione, startled, "Are you all right?"

Harry looked around at all of the glorious color returning to his vision, and nodded quickly. "Something happened last night, Hermione, something...else."

"Oh?" she asked tentatively, "What, er, was that?"

"Voldemort..." Harry began, "He, er..." He took a breath to steel himself. "He possessed me."

Hermione's mouth dropped, and her face went white. "What?"

Harry nodded slowly before turning to look at her. He squeezed her hand. "Yeah. He took me over and...demanded that Dumbledore kill me."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed impotently.

"Yeah," Harry continued, "It was, er, pretty terrible."

Hermione nodded silently, and stared into Harry's eyes. After a moment, a loud snore from Ron broke the tension, and they both laughed.

"Anyway," Harry said, chuckling, "When I got back here, I noticed that my vision had gone all wonky like. I couldn't really see color or anything."

Hermione frowned, and Harry could see that her mind was busy churning all of the data that she could.

"Also, Dumbledore sounded different." Harry frowned. "He was sarcastic and almost mean. His voice really ground on my nerves and I couldn't stand being in the same room with him."

Hermione nodded slowly, her mind still whirring and spinning.

"So," Harry concluded, "I'm having trouble thinking what that could have been."

There was a pause, and Harry could almost _smell_ Hermione's hair beginning to smolder from her brain's work.

"Nothing," said Hermione, as if she herself couldn't believe it, "I've actually got nothing." She looked up at Harry and squeezed his hand. "I've never heard of anything like it." She pursed her lips. "But you know who might?"

Harry shook his head.

"You're not going to like it," Hermione said reprovingly.

Harry shrugged. "Better than nothing, isn't it?"

Hermione made a small, snorting sound. "I'm not sure you'll think it is." She frowned. "Don't fly off the handle at this, Harry."

Harry sighed in exasperation. "Bloody hell, Hermione, what is it?"

Hermione said in a decidedly timid voice, "You should talk to Professor Snape."

Harry's eyes flared. "No! No way!" His teeth ground against each other and he released Hermione's hand. "That bastard taunted Sirius about staying home all the time. I'll bet he's part of the reason Sirius was so ready to dash off to help us."

Hermione tut-tutted. "I told you not to fly off the handle."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I didn't think you'd gone mental, Hermione."

"Hey!" Hermione exclaimed, "It's a rational choice! He knows the most about mental magic, aside from Dumbledore, and you don't exactly have a lot of people to turn to, do you?"

Harry frowned. "Still, that overblown bat as good as killed Sirius. I can't rightly forget that."

Hermione sighed. "Neville said it best, Harry. Voldemort killed Sirius, no one else."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but found that words failed him. After sputtering for a second or two, Harry fell silent.

"Now, I'm not saying you _have_ to go, Harry," Hermione continued, "I'm just saying that he's your best option to go to."

"I'll..." Harry sighed, "I'll think about it."

Hermione brightened. "That's all I wanted." She slumped back against her pillows. "Now let me sleep, Harry, I'm getting tired."

Harry nodded, gave her hand a final squeeze, and left the Hospital Wing. He had a _lot_ to think about.

* * *

Harry spent the next week trying his best to enjoy the time away from class, and, ostensibly, responsibility, but free time was alternately wonderful and torturous. When Harry was able to spend time in the company of friends, time went wonderfully. Ron got out the Hospital Wing in the first few days and Hermione was allowed to leave for a few hours at a time, provided she stayed close to the Wing. The trio spent their time trying to enjoy being alive, rather than focus on the sadness of death. Harry was particularly stringent with this, as the more he thought about it, he knew with more and more surety that Sirius would not want his loved ones regretting his passing. Rather, Harry knew that his godfather would want those he left behind to enjoy life and remember the good times.

When Harry was alone, however, things were very different. The depressing and heavy thoughts that friends removed returned in full force to weigh Harry down, and pull him down into a spiral of guilt and self-doubt. Try as he might to hold Neville's admonition in the forefront of his mind, Harry felt himself increasingly unable to hold out against the onslaught of negativity. As a result, when Ron was asleep, and Hermione was in the Wing for the night, Harry would often abscond to the Room of Requirement, or the Prefect's Bathroom, to either lose himself in whatever luxury the Room would offer, or the mind-melting warmth of the bath.

The day before all of the students were scheduled to return to their homes, Hermione was officially released from the Wing, and the trio were celebrating with butterbeers by the Black Lake. The sun was out, and a soft breeze ensured that the day would not become hot. Other students were seen in group lounging here and there, trying to relish the last moments of camaraderie before a summer of separation.

After a few minutes of talking about nothing, Hermione turned and addressed Harry. "Have you thought any more about seeing Professor Snape?"

Ron frowned. "What? Why would Harry willingly talk to that slimy git?"

Hermione gave him a frown, but did not say anything.

"Er, I have," Harry said, receiving a puzzled look from Ron, "I was sort of putting it off, though."

"Well, this _is_ the last day," Hermione said, looking away from Harry, "You might as well do it now."

"Wait, hold on!" exclaimed Ron, "What's all this? Did something happen?"

Hermione frowned at Harry. "You didn't tell him?"

Harry shrugged. "It didn't seem important."

"What?!" burst out Hermione, "It was the second we talked about! How is that not important?"

"I dunno," said Harry, feeling worse and worse, "It never came up."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" asked Ron indignantly.

"I told you how Voldemort possessed me, right?" Harry asked.

Ron nodded.

"Well, when I got back to myself, the color in my vision was gone." Harry stared at the grass in front of them. "And Dumbledore didn't sound like himself. It was weird." Harry shrugged. "So, I told Hermione about it and she said I should talk to Snape."

"Wait," ventured Ron, "Do you still see that way?"

Harry shook his head. "It all came rushing back to me while I was talking to Hermione. Actually, that's what reminded me to tell her about it."

Ron frowned. "Why Snape, though?"

"He knows the most about mind magics," explained Hermione, "And based on what Harry said, I don't think he should talk to Professor Dumbledore any time soon."

Ron nodded slowly. "It's just Snape, though. That git probably wouldn't even help Harry in the first place."

Hermione shook her head. "He's part of the Order. Dumbledore trusts him. It'll be fine."

Ron shrugged. "If his vision is fine, I don't see why it matters, anyway."

Harry broke in, "It matters because Voldemort may possess me again."

There was a short, awkward silence, punctuated by a stifled cough from Ron.

"Right," said Harry, "I'll be off then." He stood and nodded to his friends. "Wish me luck, then."

Ron and Hermione nodded and waved as Harry left.

* * *

Harry made his way slowly to Snape's dungeon. Harry mused that the last time he had come here willingly was to steal potion ingredients, way back in second year. As he descended into the castle's depths, Harry's steps became more and more forced, and his sense of dread mounted with each one. The potions classroom, and Snape's adjoining office, were definitely _not_ what Harry would consider as places containing happy memories, but his reason for coming here was more important than that, and so Harry trudged on. Rather later than Harry expected, but sooner than he felt prepared for, Harry found himself in front of Snape's door.

Harry knocked.

"Yes?" came the slow, methodical voice on the other side.

"Er, Professor?" Harry faltered. "I, um, have something to ask you."

"Potter?" came the surprised reply, "What business have you with me?"

Harry looked this way and that, up and down the corridor he was standing in. "It's a rather private matter, Professor."

Harry heard footsteps and soon the door opened. Snape was clad, as ever, in black robes that covered his whole body. He had, however, donned dragon-hide gloves, and these were smeared with the innards of some no-doubt unfortunate creature.

"Yes, Mr Potter?" Snape sneered.

"May I come in, Professor?" Harry asked, trying his best to keep his voice level. Snape's voice just got right under Harry's skin, and somehow Harry being here voluntarily made it all the less bearable.

"Please," said Snape dryly, stepping back into his office, and opening the door a bit more. When Harry was sitting in a rather spindly, wooden chair, Snape alighted in his plush, leather chair on the other side of his desk.

Harry hardly had time to take in the creepy potion ingredients scattered around the room before Snape had removed his gloves and folded his arms across his chest. "Now, Mr Potter, what is this personal matter you wish to discuss?"

Harry sighed. "At the Ministry, Voldemort possessed me."

Snape remained stone-faced. "A standard power of his. Continue."

Harry nodded. "I threw him out, after a time-"

Snape blinked. "What?" Snape frowned. "You simply 'threw out' the Dark Lord, the most powerful Legilimens in the past millennium?"

"Er, yes," Harry said.

Snape's frown deepened. "Go on."

"Well, when I came back to myself," Harry continued, "Everything was sort of...muted, like it lost some of the color it had."

Snape steepled his fingers. "Fascinating. Did you notice anything else?"

"Er, well," Harry thought back, "The portraits in the castle weren't proper paintings any more. Just sort of wonky lines."

Snape tilted his head, and leaned forward. "Tell me, boy, what did Dumbledore sound like to you?"

Harry blinked. "That was the strangest part, actually, Dumbledore sounded grating and mechanical. Even sarcastic." He shook his head. "It was really unnerving." He looked at Snape. "How did you know?"

Snape leaned back into his chair, further than he had at the beginning of the conversation, and slowly shook his head. "Oh, Potter, Potter, Potter." He took a deep breath and let it out. "Potter, you have bumbled into one of the most powerful magical abilities in existence."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"You, somehow, have attained Greysight," Snape explained, "Something that _I_ had to work at for the better part of a lifetime."

Harry blinked. "What's Greysight?"

"The ultimate goal in Occlumency, and a treasure your little mind could not possibly comprehend," snarled Snape, "Such a lamentable waste that _you_ would manifest it."

Harry clenched his fist in rage, but remembered that he needed the information Snape inevitably had, and so Harry took a deep breath and cooled his anger. "What can you tell me about this Greysight, _sir_?" Harry asked.

Snape looked surprised for a moment before recovering. "Strange. I would have expected you to fly of the handle, as you do so abysmally often." He gave Harry a searching look. "I suppose you deserve a bit of explanation. First," he stared intently into Harry's eyes, "I will-" Snape jerked back in surprise. "What? Why can I see your thoughts?" He glared at Harry. "Are you playing me false, Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "Er, all of the colors came back to me the next day."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Tell me what happened."

"I was talking with Hermione, in the Hospital Wing," Harry said, "And I was telling her about Sirius, er, dying, and I told her that it was all Voldemort's fault." Harry paused, remembering, then said, "And I got really angry, that's it, and all the color came back."

Snape's pale fingers went even paler as he gripped the desk. "You lost the Greysight?" He shook his head. "You're a bigger fool than I would have thought possible."

"Hey!" said Harry, "I didn't know what it was! I didn't mean to 'lose it,' though I was relieved that my eyes were still all right."

Snape sighed. "You are an enigma, Mr Potter." He folded his hands together. "Tell me. Do you wish to regain Greysight?"

Harry frowned. "I don't know. What does it do, exactly?"

"As I said, it's the ultimate level of Occlumency," Snape said, as if to a child, "It's how I am able to lie to Voldemort."

Harry nodded. "I see."

Snape shook his head. "It also renders any magical attempt to influence your emotions quite harmless. That's why you did not see the portraits as you do now."

Harry tilted his head.

"Portraits are imbued with the emotion of those who painted them," Snape explained condescendingly, "And so they seek to impart that emotion onto the viewer. Incidentally," Snape continued, "I'm sure that even you have realized what happened in Dumbledore's office."

Harry shook his head, bracing himself for the scorn that was sure to follow.

"Incredible, truly, how dense you are, Potter," sighed Snape, "You finally heard Albus without all of the magical filters on his voice, and person. In a way," he leaned forward, "You had your first _real_ conversation with Albus just last night."

Harry gaped. "But-but he sounded-"

"Awful?" suggested Snape, "Annoying? Depressingly condescending? Bitterly sarcastic?"

Harry nodded.

"That's because it matters little how Albus _actually_ sounds," said Snape, "Since his magic ensures that he sounds _precisely_ how he wants to."

Harry paused, thinking. "Wait. You said that you can do Greysight, right?"

Snape nodded.

"So, you've _always_ heard Dumbledore like that?" asked Harry.

"Heavens no, boy," Snape said, "I only achieved Greysight a little over a decade ago, long after I had sworn myself to Dumbledore."

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry, sir."

Snape began staring at Harry intently again. "Do you wish to try and regain Greysight, Mr Potter?"

Harry nodded eagerly.

"Should you succeed, Mr Potter," Snape explained, "I warn you that you will be hard pressed to follow Albus for much longer."

"How do you follow him?" Harry asked.

"The alternative is, for me, impossible," said Snape. "Serving Voldemort is...unacceptable, and simply leaving the castle and avoiding the headmaster is...infeasible."

Harry nodded. "Honestly, if Dumbledore really is _this_ terrible, it makes your turning traitor a bit-"

"Never finish that sentence." Snape's voice was cold. "There may be no good side to fight for, but betraying the Dark Lord was by far the most correct decision of my life."

Harry tilted his head. "Why did you turn on him?"

Snape sighed. "I learned a terrible truth." After a pregnant pause, Snape continued, "I learned that the Dark Lord had no intention of winning his war on the Ministry, and all of magical Britain."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "What?!"

"How much do you know about the Dark Mark, Mr Potter?" Snape asked with bitter smile on his face.

"Er, not much," admitted Harry, "I know that it summons his followers, but that's about it."

"It does that," nodded Snape, "But there is another dimension to the magic; a dimension that I could not abide." Snape leaned forward and spread his hands out. "You see, Mr Potter, Voldemort attached a sort of connection to his Mark. It is a one way transfer of power upon death."

"What?" Harry asked.

"When a Death Eater dies, a part of his power is magically added to Voldemort's own core," explained Snape, drawing a line with a finger on the desk. "Tom Riddle was, by all accounts, an extremely powerful wizard. The Dark Lord is an _impossibly_ powerful wizard."

Harry frowned. "So every Death Eater dying is another burst of power for Voldemort?"

Snape nodded. "It was in his personal best interest to continue the war as long as possible, to accrue the highest amount of losses on both sides, to ensure the highest possible chance for victory." Snape sighed. "In short, any continuation of the war was a lose-lose for everyone, including his followers."

"So, you left," Harry finished.

"So, I left," Snape agreed, "And in order to cut the war short, I had to make the hardest decision of my entire life. I turned Voldemort on your parents."

Harry blanched. "Why?"

"I knew from the prophecy that you were the best chance for the Dark Lord to be destroyed," Snape said, shaking his head, "I told Dumbledore what I knew, and we hatched a plan. Dumbledore orchestrated everything, from your mother's protection to making Wormtail the Secret-Keeper-"

"You knew he was a traitor?" interrupted Harry, "Why didn't they expose him?"

"A known spy is never a threat," Snape explained condescendingly, "And very often a powerful tool."

Harry thought about that for a moment, then nodded.

"Anyway," Snape went on, "The rest, as they say, is history. You caused Voldemort to be removed from the world for at least a time, and Dumbledore was able to make great use of that time; to worm his way onto every important council in Britain, and most outside of Britain as well. To consolidate his power as the Light Lord, to the Dark Lord's, well, Dark."

Harry nodded slowly, his mind swimming with everything Snape was saying. _This_ was something else, all right.

"So, as you can see, Mr Potter," Snape drawled, "There is no right side. Both are controlled by a power hungry ego-maniac. The Light offers better mortality rates, although only just." Snape leaned forward. "Now, let's try and get your Greysight back."

* * *

 **AN: Phew, hell of a lot of dialogue there, but the core ideas I'll be discussing are there. Let me know what you think! Let me know if you're confused! I'll be answering *good* questions in the beginning of other chapters. Thanks!**


	2. Slughorn

**AN: It takes a lot longer to write this story than my others mostly because I'm not good at writing introspection quickly and I'm trying to put a lot more content into this story than others. But, it means you get 6-7k chapters, so I think that's a fair deal.**

* * *

Harry awoke to a hazy, overcast summer day, another reminder that Dementors were swarming all up and down Britain, breeding like crazy. Well, Harry mused, it _had_ been a rather long time since they'd been allowed to. Harry's calendar told him that it was only a brief week until his sixteenth birthday, something that he was rather ambivalent about.

Harry glanced at his alarm clock, 7:45, and went about doing his daily meditation exercises. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath and let it out slowly, grasping towards peace and serenity with his mind. Snape had described in detail what would help Harry regain his Greysight. Achieving peace of mind and holding on to a lack of emotion was the key, so every morning Harry tried his best not to feel. He took for his inspiration the grey sky outside.

Harry took another deep breath and again let it out. He relaxed the muscles in his arms and shoulders, a small shiver shaking him, and he let go of more thoughts. A nightmare he'd had the night before was proving to be a thorn in his side, and it kept pricking him with feelings of sadness and fear. Harry only remembered the feeling present in the dream, none of the actions, and so he pressed on to rid himself of the pain.

Harry took a third deep breath and let it out even more slowly. The bleak, grey mindscape that Harry had been working on was slowly expanding across his consciousness, something that he'd been building over the last few weeks. He allowed everything to simply drift away from him; to become a sort of detached part of his life that had no real effect on him. Soon enough, the pain and fear in his dream floated away from his consciousness and he felt it no more.

There was a _tap tap tap_.

Harry blinked and looked at his window. Hedwig was standing sedately on the sill, giving Harry a cold glare. Harry chuckled to himself and lifted the window, letting his owl in. To his surprise, she had a letter on her leg, and Harry was quick to untie it and open the parchment.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays._

 _If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you._

 _Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,_

 _I am yours most sincerely,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

Harry sat heavily on his bed as he read the missive. Any other summer, he'd be filled with joy at being able to leave the Dursleys this quickly, but he was filled with a strange trepidation at being in Dumbledore's company again. Their last conversation had ended rather abruptly, and Harry was in no rush to hear that awful, grating voice again.

For a surreal thirty minutes, Harry seriously considered rejecting Dumbledore's offer. However,. the prospect of seeing Ron, and maybe Hermione, in just a few, short days had Harry scrawling, "See you then," onto a scrap of parchment, and sending Hedwig flying out again. As his owl disappeared into the horizon, Harry sat back down on his bed and began trying to sort out his thoughts.

This was another of Snape's tricks to get Harry's mind ready accept Greysight again, something that had confounded Harry the first few times he'd tried it. The goal was to organize the mind, to put everything in its proper place, to be viewed dispassionately and through the lens of logic. Once everything was where it was supposed to go, Harry began analyzing the outing with Dumbledore.

Really, there were no downsides. Harry would get to the Burrow far faster, and with much more safety, than he'd manage on his own. He'd be helping Dumbledore, which was both personally positive, and potentially a benefit to the Light side. And, finally, Harry would probably get to see some sort of interesting magic.

The only thing that Harry balked at was the potential that Dumbledore would sound terrible again. However, Harry was not in Greysight at the moment, and probably would not find it again before Friday, so that was moot. Not to mention, Snape was constantly in Greysight and managed to be around Dumbledore all the time. Harry was loathe to admit defeat at something Snape could easily do.

All of that aside, however, the real reason Harry was excited to go was the simple fact that he'd be in the world he belonged to that much faster. The Dursleys had largely left Harry alone, something he'd never complain about, but beyond their interference, there was something stifling about Number Four Privet Drive. Harry could almost _feel_ his magic becoming less and less potent while he was there, his connection to Hedwig was dimming, and he felt trapped. There was nothing he could do here in the Muggle World, at least nothing of import, and there was no goal to achieve.

After Harry was finished with his organization, he calmly walked over to his desk, grabbed a Muggle pen, and started writing a letter.

 _Dear Severus,_

* * *

With an effort, Harry pulled himself out of his mindscape and focused on the threadbare carpet beneath him. The alarm clock next to his bed told Harry it was 6:30 p.m. on Friday night. Harry had been delving deeper into the mental exercises Snape had given him, and the past three hours had passed in what felt like mere minutes. With an effort, Harry stood and began stretching his arms and legs to relieve the stiffness in them.

Strangely, Snape was becoming a fantastic teacher. Harry marveled that he was able to learn from the older man, especially in a subject that had given them both such trouble the year before. Rather than simply ordering Harry to "Control his emotions," Snape was taking Harry through exercises, outlining Occlumencical Theory, and being generally supportive, albeit in his own way.

Harry also began to understand what Snape had meant in their lessons. Controlling the instinctive emotional response to situations was, in fact, the first step to focus the mind. Ironically, had Harry been able to control his emotions in his lessons with Snape, the result probably would have seen Harry become proficient in his practice of Occlumency. Granted, Snape's continual forcing of entry into Harry's mind was probably not appropriate, but that was neither here nor there.

Harry's stomach grumbled, and he suddenly noticed the rather aggressive hunger that, no doubt, came from forgetting to eat all day. Harry glanced at the door of his bedroom, ruminating on the pros and cons of going downstairs to eat, quickly deciding that it was probably a worthwhile endeavor. After all, he was quite hungry.

Harry pulled on some of his oversized, ratty jeans and walked downstairs as quietly as he could. There had been very little interaction between Harry and his family, something that he was quite keen to continue, and Harry took no insignificant time to try and locate his aunt and uncle before walking into the spotless Dursley kitchen. The house was dark and quiet, save for a single light on in the living room. Harry methodically moved through the foyer and snuck in to the kitchen making no more noise than a house-elf. When there was no shrill screech or heaving of bulk, Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and noiselessly opened the refrigerator, grateful that Petunia was a neat freak.

Harry heard a grumble from the living room, along with what sounded like racist muttering, and the lack of a reply meant that it was only Vernon in the living room. That meant Dudley and Petunia were unaccounted for, and could walk in on him at any moment. Harry surged into action, grabbing items with only the barest vetting of what they were. Harry soon had a banana, three slices of bread, and a can of beer. He was just opening the banana when he had a thought.

The Dursleys had no idea Dumbledore was arriving in approximately four hours. Harry paused, one third of the banana unpeeled, the beer and bread forgotten. Should he willingly interact with his uncle? It was simply a display of common courtesy. Harry doubted very much that his uncle would show him the same, except to remind Harry to stay in his room forever. A month ago, Harry would likely have simply let the chips fall where they may. Harry now, however, slowly put the bread back into the fridge, picked the beer up, and walked into the living room.

Vernon Dursley was sitting in a reclining chair that was barely up to the task, reading a book that Harry couldn't see the title of. Harry was mildly surprised. He'd never seen his uncle read before.

"Er, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked quietly, not wanting to surprise his uncle.

Vernon started and looked up sharply at Harry. "Wha-?" He glared. "What do you want, boy? I ain't signing any ruddy form."

"No, it's not that," Harry said. He walked into the room a bit further and handed the beer to Vernon. "Here."

Vernon shifted his glare to the can. "What's this?" he asked suspiciously.

Harry shrugged. "It's from the fridge. I figured it's yours."

"You didn't do nothing funny with it, did you?" Vernon glared at Harry again, "I know you can't do your...stuff away from school."

Harry shook his head, a bit exasperated. "Nothing. I promise."

Vernon slowly took the can. When nothing happened, he popped it open. With another mistrustful look at Harry, Vernon took a sip. "All right, boy, what do you want?"

Harry slowly, deliberately, took a seat on the couch opposite Vernon. "I'm leaving tonight. Someone will be by at eleven to pick me up."

Vernon nodded slowly. "One of your types?"

"The Headmaster of my school," Harry answered, looking for any indication of violence from his uncle.

"Right then," Vernon picked up his book again, "Mind he doesn't make a scene. Petunia and Dudley should be in by ten, and he better not wake them."

Harry blinked. "All right."

After a rather awkward pause, Vernon put his book down again. "Was there anything else, boy?"

Harry shook his head.

"Then what are you still doing here?" growled Vernon.

Harry got up and walked up the stairs to his room, pensively peeling the rest of his banana.

* * *

With a satisfied sigh, Harry finally closed the lid to his trunk and closed latch. He looked around his room, feeling impressed with how clean it all was. No sense in cluttering up this room, after all. Harry's clothes were folded up and put away, the trash he'd never cared to tidy up was all thrown away, and the mess that Hedwig inevitably made was likewise erased. The knowledge that Petunia and Dudley were away for the evening ensured that Harry would not be discovered as he moved about the house with trash bags.

The clear floor and sense of accomplishment reminded Harry of the summer previous when he, Ron and Hermione had spent countless hours cleaning Grimmauld Place. Hermione had realized that there was no way the Trace would sense their magic in such an old and magical home. Harry and Ron eventually were able to convince Hermione that there was no harm in using magic to clean up the place, and they made a game of using magic to clean outside the view of Molly Weasely. The Weasely matriarch had vociferously forbade the underage witch and wizards from using magic on holiday, and had soundly punished Ron when she found him Levitating doxies out of the third floor window.

Harry grinned at the memory of Ron painstakingly dusting the hallway portraits with a single Hippogriff feather. Every time Ron touched the portrait of Walburga Black, the witch flew into a rage that was swiftly ended by sneezes powerful enough to make Sirius come down and ask what the devil was happening.

Harry, as per usual, felt a slight sinking feeling inside when thoughts of Sirius came up. The feeling wasn't nearly as bad as it had been a month ago, Harry wouldn't even call it "pain" anymore, but nonetheless it wasn't a pleasant feeling. Harry took a moment to feel the sinking feeling, give it its due time, remembering what a great person Sirius was, and generally allowing himself to grieve. When the sinking feeling was up, Harry pushed his mind to remember who the real villain in all of this was, and the anger that flared up in Harry pushed him to his feet. A final glance at his alarm clock read 10:55 p.m., and Harry hefted his trunk and strode outside to wait for Dumbledore.

As he slowly closed the front door to Number Four, Harry turned and looked out at the quiet, suburban street. The night was brisk, and Harry opened his trunk to pull on a sweater. The first one his hand found was the one he'd received the previous Christmas from Mrs Weasely. As he pulled the warm, comforting wool over his ratty t-shirt, Harry couldn't help but grin at the thought of Ron haplessly wearing his sweater when they'd opened their presents. Ron may complain about what Mrs Weasely gave him, but Harry was sure that he'd definitely prefer them to what the Dursleys thought of as gifts.

It was only the peaceful darkness that allowed Harry to hear the incredibly soft _pop_ that signaled the arrival of Dumbledore. Harry involuntarily tensed his shoulders as he heard the older man's footsteps approach Number Four. Harry scanned the darkness, and quickly found the Headmaster walking beneath the streetlights towards him. Dumbledore was wearing his traditional hat, but his robes were rather more subdued than normal. There were swirling patterns of maroon sequins on a sapphire field that looked like flames swirling around underneath a storm. The robes made Dumbledore somehow more formidable, and consequently, less grandfatherly. Harry immediately got the sense that their errand was vital and dreadfully important.

Soon enough, Dumbledore smiled and lifted a hand in greeting, and Harry returned the gesture, though the smile was eerily reminiscent of the same one Harry remembered from Dumbledore's office. Harry shook himself mentally. Of course it reminded him of that night. Harry took a deep breath and cleared his emotions. This would be a long night.

"Good evening, Harry," said Dumbledore in greeting, "I rather thought I might have to come in and get you."

Harry shook his head. "Vernon told me not to wake them, so I figured I'd wait outside."

"That's rather, er, thoughtful of you," Dumbledore said with a slight frown.

Harry shrugged. "No reason to pointlessly create conflict, right?"

"Right." Dumbledore still regarded Harry with an odd look. After a moment of Harry volunteering nothing, Dumbledore seemed to put the matter from his mind. He took out his wand and with a few waves, had shrunk Harry's trunk. "Shall we?" he asked, offering Harry his arm.

Harry nodded, pocketed his trunk, and took it. At his touch, the fabric was pulled back a bit, and Harry saw that Dumbledore's hand was shriveled and blackened, as if burned.

Harry flinched. "Are you all right, sir?"

Dumbledore glanced down and chuckled. "As well as can be expected, my boy."

Harry stared at the hand, morbidly fascinated. "What happened?"

"It is a thrilling tale," smiled Dumbledore, "And I wish to do it justice."

Harry digested that. If Dumbledore was telling the truth, the hand seemed not to be debilitating. But how could that hand _not_ be debilitating? Harry mentally shrugged. It didn't matter.

"I am told," Dumbledore continued, "That Apparition is a rather unpleasant sensation at first."

Harry glanced up at the old man.

"Do try not to soil my robes," Dumbledore said, his eyes smiling at Harry over his spectacles, "They're new." His lips twitched upwards.

Harry forced a chuckle. "I'll try, sir."

Apparition _was_ , in fact, an unpleasant experience. Harry felt as though he were being shoved through a particularly stiff garden hose without being shrunk at all. In the grips of the sensation, Harry felt as though time stretched, elongating his suffering rather like the Cruciatus Curse, though far less painful.

After an eternity that only took the blink of an eye, Harry felt his feet land on solid ground. He straightened, trying to get a sense of where they were, but his eyes were in no state to see what was around. Harry doubled over, as his stomach made its discomfort known to the rest of his body, and he felt that if his dinner had been more substantial than a banana, he'd probably be losing it.

He felt a hand pat his back and heard Dumbledore say, "You'll be all right. It gets easier, you know."

With an effort, Harry ignored his stomach and straightened up. They were standing in a suburban street, very much like the one they'd just left. Streetlights were the only illumination around, shining down on the various cars and yard decorations one might find in any neighborhood.

"Where are we, sir?" asked Harry, still looking around. "Why are we in a Muggle neighborhood?"

"Well spotted, my boy," twinkled Dumbledore, "We are here to interview for a position at Hogwarts." He began walking towards a certain house. "Right this way, Harry."

Harry turned and began following Dumbledore down the sidewalk. Suddenly, the sky was lit up by a huge skull with a snake for a tongue, tinged a menacing green, bathing the house below in a sickly light. Harry's eyes went wide. He surged forward, dashing towards the house, barely even hearing Dumbledore ruefully mutter, "My, my, now this _is_ something."

Harry vaulted over the small, metal gate and continued his mad dash up the serene little garden in the front yard. The door was, predictably, smashed into twigs, the doorknobs rolling sadly on the concrete porch.

"Lumos!" Harry cried as he entered the home. The tip of his wand flared with an urgent, white light, showing Harry a completely destroyed home. The Death Eaters had been painfully thorough in their destruction, smashing mirrors, ripping paintings, and caking the walls liberally with the blood of their victim.

Harry ventured away from the foyer, into the dining room. There was a magnificently thick mahogany table that had been cracked completely in half, a small pool of blood on the ground between the two halves. The owner of the house had, at least, put up a fight, evidenced by half a Death Eater mask listlessly hanging off a dining chair. Harry turned to go into the kitchen, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small, innocent looking plate of food lying on the ground. It looked delicious.

Harry followed the destruction into the kitchen and, apart from a few blood smears on the refrigerator and some cabinets, the violence seemed to take place in other parts of the house. There was evidence that dinner was being prepared, food was on the counter, pots and pans were still uncleaned, and there was meat of some sort on the cutting board. This struck Harry as a bit odd, as he'd seen the completed plate of food already.

With a shrug, Harry kept moving into the living room, and was again morbidly impressed by the pure inventiveness of the Death Eaters' destruction. There was hardly a surface in the entire room that had survived even a little. Walls were slashed and scuffed, the sofa had apparently exploded, and the large sliding glass doors that led to the backyard had been violently destroyed. As Harry looked around the room again, however, a strangely pristine chair caught his eye. It was overstuffed, blue and, except for the top being a bit threadbare, it was completely untouched.

"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore, suddenly beside Harry, "I see you've found it too."

Harry started. "Er, what have I found, Professor?"

"The owner of the house," explained Dumbledore, "Go on, give that chair a poke."

Harry slowly, and with great trepidation, walked up to the chair and sort of tapped it with his finger. The chair twitched away from the touch. Harry blanched and looked back at Dumbledore.

"Harder, Harry, try again!" called Dumbledore with an encouraging smile, as though Harry were a toddler performing some endearing action.

With a shrug, Harry plunged his wand straight into the plushy seat of the chair. The chair squawked and flinched backwards, somehow smoothly turning into a rather large, rather bald old man standing in front of Harry, rubbing his stomach with a sour expression. He was wearing what looked like a dressing robe, as though he were just off to bed, complete with slippers and a sense of drowsiness.

"Bloody hell, Dumbledore," the man complained, "It's bad enough you call without notice, but you didn't have to send your bloody crusader in on me."

Dumbledore chuckled. "The jig was up, Horace, and you know it."

"Yes, what gave it away?" asked the man, Horace, showing slight interest. "I'm rather proud of all this destruction, and in only four seconds too."

Dumbledore looked appreciatively around the demolished living room. "Quite impressive, Horace."

"Er," Harry broke in, "What's going on?"

Both older men looked at Harry for a second before Dumbledore snapped his fingers. "Of course, so rude of me! Harry, this is Horace Slughorn," He turned to the older man, "And Horace, _this_ is Harry Potter."

"You don't say!" Horace exclaimed, moving towards Harry with renewed interest, extending a hand, "It is a pleasure to meet you, my boy, quite an honor indeed!"

Harry took the hand and shook it, a smile growing on his face, "Pleased to meet you too, sir."

"Well, with that out of the way," Slughorn said, turning back to Dumbledore, "How the devil did you figure me out?"

"My dear Horace," Dumbledore chucked, "The Dark Mark is not a static image."

"Of course it is!" exclaimed Slughorn exasperatedly, "It has to be! There's no other way for it to stay in the air!"

"It's not, sir," Harry said, "You know how portraits are alive? It's sort of like that." Slughorn gaped at Harry. "Er, the skull comes first, then the snake sort of bursts through the mouth."

After another moment of looking strangely at Harry, Slughorn sighed and shrugged. "It's good enough for most people, anyway."

"Horace," Dumbledore began, "Shouldn't we fix this place up? I don't believe Mr and Mrs Blunk would appreciate this mess."

"Right you are, Albus." Slughorn navigated the debris absentmindedly and moved to stand back to back with Albus. "Shall we do it together?"

Both older men took out their wands and began chanting spell after spell, their wands dancing in unison through the air. Harry watched agog as the living room began to twist and repair itself, lurching back to a pristine condition. Chunks of wall flew back to where they belonged, rends in paintings stitched themselves back together, the sliding glass doors were suddenly seamless pains again, and with an agonizing _crunch_ , a magnificent crystal chandelier that Harry hadn't even seen screwed itself back home.

Mindful of the flying debris, Harry carefully walked back to the foyer. There, too, everything was righting itself incredibly quickly. Somehow, Slughorn and Dumbledore were simultaneously targeting the entire house with their spell. With grin born of sheer wonder at the limits of magic, Harry meandered back into the living room. Hermione would be _ecstatic_ to hear about this spell. Maybe he could get Dumbledore to teach it later. Soon enough, the living room was back to its old self, and the three wizards were relaxing into the comfortable sofas and chairs Dumbledore and Slughorn had just fixed.

"Right, Horace," began Dumbledore, "I believe you know why I've come."

"Indeed I do," grumbled Slughorn, "And I know why you've brought _him_ , and it won't work."

"Just think of all the good you could do at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, vaguely gesturing with his hand, "All of the students who could use your expertise."

Slughorn tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's almost midnight, Albus, if you're going to nag my ear off, will you at least let me nod off first?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. I can see there's no convincing you." He stood, and Harry scrambled to follow. "May I use the washroom before we depart?"

Slughorn waved Dumbledore on, a resigned exasperation on his face. As Dumbledore walked out of the room, Harry hesitantly sat back down on the comfortable leather sofa. A mildly uncomfortable silence set in as Harry looked around the room. Now that it was all put back together, the room was really quite lovely. There were several pictures of an elderly couple smiling and waving in various locales, including in front of a beautiful Asian temple and the Statue of Liberty. Strangely, Slughorn wasn't in any of the pictures.

"Are these your parents?" Harry asked, gesturing at the photos.

Slughorn looked up from being annoyed with Dumbledore and replied, "Oh heavens no. I'm loads older than they are." He gave a rueful chuckle. "These Muggles are on vacation in the Canary Islands."

Harry blinked, then frowned. "Did they ask you to house-sit?"

"I've never met them," sighed Slughorn, "They were quite surprised to suddenly win a cruise from a contest they'd never entered, but my Confundus Charm cleared things right up for them."

"You charmed Muggles?!" exclaimed Harry, leaping to his feet.

"Oh calm down," grumbled Slughorn, "It was a victimless crime. They got a pre-paid vacation and I got a place to stay for a week or two."

Harry slowly sat down again.

After a moment or two of silence, Slughorn asked, "Mind if I show you something, Harry?"

Harry shrugged and followed Slughorn into an adjoining room. It seemed to be the master bedroom. There was a generous king sized bed that dominated the room, with a door off to the side that was probably the master bathroom. There was another sliding glass door that led into the backyard, though it was dark enough that Harry couldn't see what the backyard was like. The decorations on the walls were softer, and more intimate than in the living room; romantic pictures of the Muggles, the man playing with what were obviously his children, and even a small photo of the woman holding her baby grandchild.

Harry stifled a shiver at the invasion of privacy and said, "What is it?"

"Here," said Slughorn, handing Harry a small picture frame.

The picture showed a small dinner party, an even mix of men and women, young and old, all of them wearing Hogwarts robes. They all seemed to be having fun, at least they were all smiling and waving at the camera, but Harry's eyes were drawn to one girl in particular. She had long, shimmering red hair, a graceful smile, and a lightness of posture that rendered her instantly likable. But Harry was more immediately drawn to her eyes. They were a sparkling, bottle green.

Harry felt a surge of emotion, and it was all he could do to swiftly shunt it off to the side. "You taught my mother?" Harry asked, barely a hint of a vocal tremor.

"I did," answered Slughorn, warm pride suffusing his voice, "She was one of my absolute favorites."

"Then you taught my dad too, right?" Harry asked.

"Of course," answered Slughorn, "Though he took far less of a shine to me than Lily did."

After a moment of staring into his mother's smiling face, Harry took a deep breath. "Do you mind if I take this photo, Mr Slughorn?"

"Of course not, my boy," said Slughorn.

"Thanks," Harry answered, turning and walking back to the living room.

When they both were seated opposite each other, Slughorn asked, "Do you want to hear a story about your mother, Harry?"

Harry looked up from the photo and nodded eagerly.

"To give some context," Slughorn began, "As a teacher, I would throw little parties here and there throughout the year for students that merited, er," He searched for the right word, "Special attention." Slughorn chuckled and shook his head. "Imagine my surprise when some Muggleborn witch in her first year was recommended to me."

The emphasis on "Muggleborn" made Harry speak up hotly, "There's a Muggleborn witch friend of mine who's the best, by far, in our year."

"Oh! You mustn't think I'm prejudiced," protested Slughorn, emphatically waving his hands, "Didn't I just say that your mother was one of my favorites?" When Harry didn't lower his glower, Slughorn continued, "And I'm sure your friend is quite lovely, too."

Harry shook his head resignedly, "I'm sorry, please continue."

"Right!" Slughorn's eyes lit up, "As I was saying, imagine my surprise when Lily Potter was recommended to me, by Professor Flitwick no less!" The large man leaned forward in his chair, eliciting a small groan from the furniture. "So, to test her, I invited her to my first party of the year, but I told no one else that she would be attending."

Harry frowned, but didn't say anything. That seemed rather unfair.

"Now, some of my older students would occasionally offer to run interference for my parties to keep those, er, unqualified from entering," Slughorn said, gesturing with his hands, "And sure enough, right on time, Lily Potter showed up to my office."

Harry, despite himself, was getting into the story and grinned.

"I see you know where this is going, my boy," winked Slughorn, "Now, the older boys outside obviously didn't know I'd invited her, so they didn't let her in. Did that stop Lily?" Slughorn chuckled as he shook his head, "Of course not, of course not."

"What happened, sir?" asked Harry excitedly.

"Well, my boy," chuckled Slughorn, "I don't believe I've ever heard someone so small so thoroughly chew someone out, before or since!" He lifted a finger and waved it in imitation, "'Listen here, big Mister Sixth Year, I was _invited_ by Professor Slughorn and unless you want to take it up with _him_ , you better _let me in_.'"

Harry laughed but managed, "She really said that?"

Slughorn, caught in his own laugh, could only nod. When he finally caught his breath, he continued, "The poor boy was so taken aback that he only replied in random sputterings." After another bout of laughing, Slughorn managed, "Eventually, she simply stormed past the two of them, and demanded of me that I 'inform the cretins I employ of the guest list' and that she would not brook another situation like this."

Slughorn shook his head, "She was such a firebrand, even then." He took a sobering breath "If only the Dark Lord had seen that, I doubt he'd have had the courage to target her."

Harry gave a last, sad little chuckle. "She sounds wonderful."

Slughorn looked sadly at Harry. "It is simply criminal that you did not meet her, Harry. I've never known anyone before or since that had the raw _vitality_ that Lily had. Her thirst for everything that life could throw at her was inspiring."

Harry nodded, looking at the picture, at his mother's smiling, jubilant face. He could see all of what Slughorn was saying in this one, little picture. The impetuous tilt to her chin, the mischievous glint in her eyes, and the obvious levity of her situation. Harry slowly allowed the emotion he'd shoved aside before to affect him, and a sad smile crept over his face. At least, he knew his mother a bit better.

"Sorry to take so long," said Dumbledore coming back into the living room.

Slughorn quickly adopted a disaffected indifference, "Ah, back are you? Stomach troubles, Albus?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I was merely engrossed in _Stitch Weekly_. I do _love_ knitting patterns," he grinned. "Shall we be off, Harry?"

Harry nodded and got up. When he reached the limit of the room, he turned back. "Won't you reconsider teaching at Hogwarts, sir?" He smiled warmly at the old man, "I'd love to hear more about my mother."

"I'm afraid I can't, Harry," said Slughorn, shaking his head, "There are too many people after me to be at one place for so long."

Harry balked. "But, sir, you'll be at Hogwarts."

Slughorn waved a dissenting hand. "Place is more dangerous than ever now, I hear."

"If it's safe enough for me, it's safe enough for you," said Harry dispassionately.

Slughorn opened his mouth, then closed it again. He seemed to be considering.

"Ah well, let's go, Harry," said Dumbledore. At Harry's incredulous look, Dumbledore grinned and winked. At the door, Dumbledore turned and called over his shoulder. "You know, Horace, it's not everyone who can say they've declined a personal invitation from Harry Potter." He looked pointedly at Slughorn for a moment before abruptly turning and leading Harry out of the house.

"Sir?" asked Harry, "What was-"

Dumbledore help up a silencing finger. "One, two, three, and-"

"Albus!" called Slughorn from the doorway behind them, "I'll want a bloody raise!"

Dumbledore chuckled in response and led Harry out of the little garden, and onto the sidewalk. When Dumbledore stopped, he glanced back at the house. "Oops, that won't do." He pulled out his wand and quickly Vanished the image of skull and snake in the night sky. The night went back to simply being dark, rather than sinister, and Dumbledore offered his hand again to Harry. "To the Burrow?"

* * *

After the horrible squeezing and terrifying choking, that Harry hadn't really noticed the first time, Harry found himself in darkness, pressed up against something that poked the small of his back. His hands felt around for any clue to his location, but all they found were some oddly shaped materials Harry could identify. He thought perhaps he could feel a hose of some sort, at least the texture was familiar, and maybe some sort of broom?

"Lumos," whispered Dumbledore, and suddenly Harry could see that he was a garden shed.

"Er, whose garden shed are we in, sir?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore smiled warmly. "The Weaselys'. An impressive bit of Apparition, if I do say so myself," Dumbledore added with a wink.

Harry chuckled, despite himself. The old wizard was charming again, and it was alarmingly easy to forget all of Snape's warnings about the man. "So, why are we in this garden shed, sir?" Harry smirked. "I'd think we should have Apparated to the door if we wanted to see the Weaselys."

Dumbledore adopted a false tone of gravity. "Wise beyond your years, as ever, Harry." With an eye twinkle, Dumbledore shifted tone and became serious. "You remember, no doubt, the conversation we had right after the incident at the ministry?"

Harry nodded. "Sorry about my outburst, sir. I was-"

"No need, my boy, no need," said Dumbledore, waving Harry down, "You were distraught and I was, er, less than understanding. Nonetheless," Dumbledore folded his hands together, "We must talk."

Harry nodded. Snape had expected this, and had said as much when Harry had mailed him.

 _No doubt Dumbledore will want to debrief you himself. I've hinted that you spoke with me, but he won't be satisfied unless he does it himself._

"So, Harry, you went through a traumatic experience back in June," Dumbledore began gravely, "How do you feel?"

"It was..." Harry trailed off. He didn't know how much to talk about. He and Snape had decided that mentioning Greysight was a bad idea, but nothing beyond that, so Harry figured he'd just try to sound like he had in years previous. After all, Harry had _plenty_ of experience with being wounded after a traumatic experience. "It was really scary, sir. I-I couldn't control myself." Despite having gone through issues much more painful than this one, it was oddly cathartic telling Dumbledore these baser fears. "He made me say terrible things!" Harry gave quite a convincing affected shudder. "But then I thought of my friends, and I was able to throw him out of my mind."

Dumbledore nodded compassionately. "Never lose those feelings, Harry. Never be afraid to feel. Those feelings are what make you a man!"

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, genuinely interested.

"Those feelings of love and compassion for others are what makes you human, Harry." Dumbledore smiled warmly. "Voldemort lacks those basic human feelings, and it makes him a monster."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"There's one more thing, Harry," Dumbledore said, heaving a heavy sigh, "It's something I should have told you long ago."

Harry tensed, ready for anything. _Remember how the Light works, Harry. Don't let his tone make you forget that he has taken numerous actions that aren't in your best interest. He's only out for himself. See how what he says benefits him._ Snape's letter ran through Harry's mind.

"There was a prophecy," Dumbledore sighed. "A prophecy about you and Voldemort."

"It broke." Harry's voice was small. He figured that small, warm ball had been important.

"Did you see anything when it broke?" asked Dumbledore.

"A strange woman started talking, I think," Harry said scratching his cheek. "I couldn't hear anything though."

Dumbledore nodded as though something had been confirmed for him. "I see. That woman was Professor Trelawney."

Harry balked. "Really?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "It's honestly why I keep her on the payroll. She's not safe outside the castle."

 _Not to mention, it'll keep that prophecy under your nose_ , thought Harry. _So, that's what Snape meant_. _Everything Dumbledore does is apparently helping others, but has another dimension to it._

"As I was saying," Dumbledore continued, "She gave a prophecy concerning you, and the downfall of Voldemort."

"What does it say, sir?" asked Harry, intentionally demurely.

"Alas that there is no pensieve here," sighed Dumbledore, "For I wish you to view it in its entirety. Hopefully, my summary will be sufficient." He took a deep breath. "The prophecy begins with naming you, specifically, as the one who will defeat Voldemort. Your qualifications are that you were born as the seventh month dies, and born to parents who have thrice defied Voldemort."

Harry nodded as Dumbledore was talking. He fit the bill all right.

"The prophecy then continues on to talk about _how_ you can fight against Voldemort. He will mark," Dumbledore tapped Harry's forehead, "you as his equal and, in doing so, will give you power that he knows not."

Harry frowned. That was vague. Power Voldemort knows not could honestly be anything. It could be his friends, his ability to talk to snakes, even his Muggle background. Harry quickly discarded that line as vague enough to be irrelevant.

"I believe that the power mentioned is the ability to love," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard.

Harry paused before answering. What would old Harry say? "Wow, really, sir?" Harry asked, "That's not really a power, right?"

Dumbledore solemnly shook his head. "Some would say that the ability to love is the greatest power, Harry."

Harry nodded. _So, I was right to list that power as irrelevant._

"The prophecy ends on a more dour not," Dumbledore was saying, "'Neither can live while the other survives' are the final words."

Harry nodded, still thinking about the previous part. "Of course. One of us has to kill the other. Obvious," he said without thinking.

"Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry blinked, and immediately realized his blunder. "Er, what I mean-"

"Harry." Dumbledore's voice was firm.

Harry, almost involuntarily, glanced up and met the older man's eyes.

That was when it happened.

Harry _felt_ Dumbledore reach towards his mind. The old man made no movement, made no aggressive motion, but Harry could nonetheless feel the attack. Time seemed to stop. Harry was flooded with memories of being possessed by Voldemort, the anguish of losing control, the horror at hearing himself speak words that were not his, and the utter lack of control. Harry could feel his skin crawling as he saw the attack on his mind, he knew that he could not abide that sort of invasion again.

As quickly and innocuously as it had happened, it stopped. Harry was back in the shed.

But everything was grey.


	3. Summer

**AN: Bit of a longer chapter this time, but I wanted to finish out summer in Chapter 3.**

* * *

"Sir," Harry said, quickly averting his gaze from Dumbledore, "Please, I have a lot to think about." He moved to leave the shed.

"Of course, Harry." Dumbledore's grating, sarcastic tone rubbed the back of Harry's neck like sandpaper. It was all Harry could do to avoid shuddering. "I'll see you once term begins."

"Of course, sir." Harry put a hand on the dull, barely colored doorknob.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, "I'd like to have private lessons with you this year."

Along with his words, Dumbledore's hand seemed to grip Harry's shoulder like the talons of a bird of prey grasping its hapless victim. Harry had the breadth of a moment to decide his answer.

"What sort of lessons, sir?" Harry asked, trying his level best to keep his tone light, "Like lessons about magic?"

"Lessons about Voldemort." Dumbledore's voice took on a bitterly angry tone. "And how to best defeat him."

Harry noted that, even without magic to change the tone, Dumbledore's voice still changed based on his emotions. That seemed important. "So, defensive magic?" Harry mentally calmed himself, then turned to face to the old man.

"More than that, my boy," Dumbledore said with an intimidating smile, "His history, and his tendencies."

Harry nodded, and even managed a grin. "That sounds fascinating, sir! I look forward to it." Harry was very proud of himself for how genuine his voice sounded. "Are the Weaselys expecting me?"

Dumbledore glanced at his indecipherable watch. "They are, but we're a bit early." His voice took on a sour, cruel tinge. "I guess our conversation lasted far shorter than I expected."

Harry nodded and opened the shed door. "I'll look for your message about our first class, sir!" He turned and started out of the shed, but Dumbledore's grip did not leave his shoulder. Harry glanced over his shoulder.

Dumbledore's lips twitched up into a leer. "Have a good summer, Harry." His tone grew ominous. "I look forward to this year."

Harry stifled a terrified gulp and managed a smile. "Me too, sir. See you!"

Dumbledore nodded and let go of Harry's shoulder.

As Harry left the shed and turned towards the Burrow, he heard a small _pop_ as Dumbledore Apparated away. Harry let out the breath he'd been holding and felt all of the tension suddenly leave his shoulder. The night was, quite frankly, depressing to look at. All of the stars were dim and barely shimmering, reminding Harry of looking at the sky through a dingy, dirty window. The grass seemed similarly despondent, listlessly leaning this way and that on the whim of the breeze. The house that had always seemed charmingly ramshackle, with its haphazard repairs and odd shape, now seemed archaic and simply in poor repair. It looked as though the owners simply didn't care about it; as though they neglected the poor house.

Harry wondered for a moment if that was because of a charm on the house that his Greysight was seeing through, or if it was simply the cynical bent of the ability casting a harshly realistic view of reality. With a shrug and a sigh, Harry trudged across the unkempt lawn. The stalks of grass tall enough to kiss his fingertips felt ephemeral, though not unpleasant. The dirt road that led from the street to the Burrow's door was soon crunching away under Harry's feet, the sound refreshingly the same as it was outside of Greysight. The thought caused a small, wistful smile on his face.

Harry knocked on the Burrow's door.

"Now, who could that be?" rang out a familiar voice from inside, causing Harry's small smile to expand.

"It's me, Mrs Weasely!" Harry called, doing his best to fight against the cynicism of Greysight.

The door swung open, and Mrs Weasely quickly swept Harry into a hug. "Oh heavens, Harry, it's ever so good to see you again!" She released him and swiftly looked him up and down. "Merlin, you've grown again! And you're as thin as ever!"

Harry chuckled at the familiar routine.

"This is no laughing matter, young man," Mrs Weasely chided, "Get inside this moment!"

Harry walked into the Burrow's living room, relieved that Mrs Weasely didn't sound like a monster. The famous Weasely clock was set up such that it could easily be seen from almost anywhere from the kitchen to the living room, and one glance at its face told Harry why. Currently, all of the hands were pointing at Mortal Danger. Mrs Weasely quickly hurried Harry into the dining room, and sat him down at the table.

"Just a moment, dear, I'll fix you up something, don't you worry!" Mrs Weasely bustled into the kitchen.

Harry's grin at Mrs Weasely's antics slowly faded from his face as he thought about the clock. He had been sat facing the kitchen, looking away from the clock. That was probably intentional, but Harry nonetheless got up and sat on the other side of the table, in order to look at the clock. His fingers drummed on the table as he stared intently at Ron's hand on the clock.

It was sort of a relief for Harry that he was the one who had to kill Voldemort. There was nothing in the prophecy about his friends having to do anything, so Harry could at least hope that they'd be safe. On the other hand, if there was anything Harry knew about his friends, it was that they'd stop at nothing to help him out, regardless of his feelings on the matter. So, inevitably, they'd be with him at the final battle, fiercely staring down Voldemort as sternly as he would be.

Mrs Weasely soon brought in the food she made, probably more than Harry had eaten in the past week, and plopped down next to him. Harry noticed that she was keeping an eye on the clock the entire time he ate. She was looking tired, older even, with bags under her eyes, and an odd thinness to her face. With all the rich food Harry knew she made, it was a little unnerving to see the effect the war was having on her. Harry idly wondered if it had been easier or harder the last time Voldemort rose.

"All finished then, dear?" Mrs Weasely asked, her chipper tone at complete odds with her air of exhaustion.

Harry nodded, wiping his mouth a final time. "Thanks. It was delicious."

Mrs Weasely beamed. "You are sweet." She flicked her wand at the dishes and they soared into the kitchen. "Now, you'll be upst-"

There was a _bong_ from the clock, and Mrs Weasely froze in mid-speech. Mr Weasely's hand swung from _Mortal Danger_ to _Traveling_ for an instant, then flicked to _Home_ , and finally came to rest at _Mortal Danger_ again.

"Oh finally!" exclaimed Mrs Weasely, dashing to the door. Harry noticed that the tension in her face was mostly gone.

There was a knock. "Hello! It's Arthur!" called a familiar voice from outside.

"Thank Merlin you're home, dear," said Mrs Weasely, her tone weak with relief.

"Now now, dear," reminded Mr Weasely, "That's what I would say if I were a Death Eater in disguise!"

"Oh of course you're not," replied Mrs Weasely, "Just come in!"

"Not until we do the passwords," Mr Weasely replied.

Mrs Weasely looked at Harry, obviously mortified.

Harry made a huge show of putting his fingers in his ears, and Mrs Weasely mouthed "thank you." Harry turned away to give her that little bit more privacy, and began to intently study his dishes being washed. It struck him, then, that he'd never learned that spell. He'd seen Mrs Weasely use it countless times, but it had never even been mentioned at school. Harry resolved that there should be a class that taught Muggleborns all of the little housekeeping spells that all the Purebloods seemed to know already.

Soon enough, Mr Weasely was striding across The Burrow's living room to give Harry a brief, hard hug. "Harry! I had hoped to be home when you arrived." He reached into a pocket and fished around for a bit before pulling out a pager. "What's this?"

Mrs Weasely, cheeks still a little pink, walked over and put a hand on her husband's shoulder. "Honey, Harry's had a long day. Bother him with that nonsense tomorrow."

"It's ok, Mrs Weasely," grinned Harry, still valiantly fighting against the Greysight's influence, "That's a pager, Mr Weasely. It's something Muggles use to communicate over long distances."

"Like an owl?" asked Mr Weasely, before snapping his fingers, "Wait, no, like the fellytone?"

"Telephone," chuckled Harry. Fellytone got him every time. "And it's sort of like that, but pagers can be taken anywhere."

Mr Weasely went slack-jawed. "So Muggles can communicate with each other over any distance at any time?"

"Er, it's not as amazing as all that," said Harry, "See the display? You can only send text that would fit in that display. Little phrases."

"Still, that's amazing!" exclaimed Mr Weasely, "Wizards really need something like that."

Harry thought for a second. Excepting Fawkes, Harry supposed that there really wasn't a way for wizards to communicate words over long distances with any amount of speed. And not everyone could get their hands on a phoenix.

"Maybe you could modify that?" Harry asked tentatively, remembering the last time Mr Weasely had messed with Muggle technology.

Mrs Weasely also remembered, apparently. "No. No, no, no, he will _not_ be doing that."

Mr Weasely looked at his wife sheepishly. "But, dear, just think of what I could-"

"Not on your life," his wife replied, with a steely glare, "No more messing with Muggle stuff. Harry can tell you what it does, but no more."

Mr Weasely's face fell comically. "Oh you're probably right, dear." He smiled wanly at Harry. "Well, thanks for telling me what it does at least, Harry."

Harry nodded. "Of course, Mr Weasely." Harry stifled a yawn.

Mrs Weasely was too quick not to catch that, though. "Right, off to bed, young man!"

Harry nodded resignedly. He really should sleep.

"You'll be upstairs," Mrs Weasely explained, leading the way through the kitchen to the stairs. "With Fred and George gone, you'll get your own room."

"Really?" asked Harry, a bit surprised.

"Hermione and Ginny are sharing," explained Mrs Weasely, "So there's one extra."

Harry nodded slowly. "Thanks. That means a lot."

Mrs Weasely stopped in front of the door and gave Harry another hug. "Of course, dear." She opened the door and Harry walked in.

The room was pretty spare, only a bed and a dresser, and a single paned window set into the wall. The walls and floor were wood, their flat color offset by the garishly colored bedclothes. He was impressed that, even through the Greysight, he could still appreciate the coloring scheme of wizards. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the shrunken trunk.

"Can you enlarge this?" asked Harry, handing the trunk to Mrs Weasely.

She took the trunk, put it on the floor, and flicked her wand. Soon enough, Harry's trunk was sitting on the floor, full-sized and ready to go.

"Thanks!" Harry grinned.

Mrs Weasely gave him one last hug before wishing him a good night and leaving the room. Harry changed and climbed into bed. He fell asleep looking at the photo of his mum that Slughorn had given him. It was just lines and squiggles that meant nothing.

* * *

Harry had just a few moments of being awake, room bright and blurry, before his vision was suddenly and violently impaired by bushy, brown hair. Harry barely managed to get his arms out from under the bed's covers before Hermione had straightened and was beaming at him, sitting next to him on the bed. Behind her, a blurry redhead was leaning against the door-frame, looking like he'd grown at least another inch or so in the month Harry hadn't seen him.

"Is he up yet?" exclaimed a smaller redhead, dashing into the room past Ron.

"Apparently I am now," Harry said, groaning a bit. He grabbed his glasses from next to the squiggly photo and put them on. Ron and Ginny quickly came into focus, and their faces brought a smile to Harry's lips. "Good morning."

"Good morning!" exclaimed Ginny, putting a tray of food in front of Harry. "Breakfast time!"

Harry blinked at the unexpected food. "What time is it?"

"Just past eleven!" answered Ginny, grinning. "Mum finally let us in here."

Harry nodded and began digging in. The food was delicious, just as he expected, and Harry ate with renewed vigor. Several bites in, though, that the food started tasting a bit off. Harry frowned. There was nothing wrong with it that he could see, but the flavors were becoming stale. The textures were dying off, leaving it oddly stiff and lifeless. Harry found himself not wanting to finish the food, despite his hunger still being present.

Several things were possible. The food could have been made with emotional magic, and Greysight was simply weeding it out of the taste. Greysight could just make things taste bad, a frightening concept. Harry began to imagine the rest of his life like this, food depressingly terrible, people laid bare, magic not able to help-

"Everything all right, Harry?" asked Ginny, "Why are you frowning at breakfast?"

Harry started. He hadn't realized that his thoughts had crossed onto his face. "Er, well-"

Ginny's face fell. "Is it not good? I made it for you since Mum was busy gardening."

Oh. That was it. "No no, it's great!" exclaimed Harry, genuinely glad that Greysight didn't take away his sense of taste. Ginny just wasn't a very good cook. "See?" He shoveled a good bit more of the breakfast into his mouth. "It's great!"

Ginny grinned, relieved.

Ron shook his head. "You don't have to lie, Harry. She's a right terrible cook."

Ginny rounded on her brother, eyes blazing. "Mum says I'm a blooming talent, _Ronald_."

Harry chuckled, while Hermione looked at the two siblings with worried eyes. Harry soon finished his meal and pushed the tray away. "Phew, thanks for that, Ginny."

"Of course!" she said brightly. "I worked really-"

"So how was last night, mate?" Ron broke in, moving closer to Harry's bed.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry cautiously.

"Dumbledore of course," chided Ron, "Blimey, Harry, what else?"

Hermione's eyes widened in interest, and Ginny even ignored Ron's slight to hear what Harry would say.

"Er," Harry paused, "Well-" He wasn't sure where to begin. Should he talk about his recent distrust of Dumbledore? Surely they'd be suspicious that Harry was trusting Snape more than the Headmaster. Perhaps he should begin with what Greysight exactly was? Give them that context through which to understand his current mindset. Maybe he should just give the facts of the night-

"Get out of here, Ginny," Ron spat, "Harry obviously doesn't want to tell you."

"N-no, that's not it!" Harry broke in, before Ginny could retort, "I'm just not sure where to begin with all of this."

Ron shot Harry a confused look. "What do you mean, mate? I'm just asking about last night."

Harry nodded. "There's some context you'll need, is all." He took a deep breath. "You remember that thing that happened after the Ministry?"

"The sight thing?" Ginny piped up, to the surprise of Ron and Hermione.

Harry nodded. "I talked to Snape about it. It's called Greysight." There was a sort of awed silence.

Ron frowned. "Wait. Why did you wait so long to tell us about this?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't really understand it myself. It's weird."

After a moment, Hermione said, "It's ok, Harry. Keep going."

Harry shook himself and nodded. "Well, Snape said it was the ultimate form of Occlumency."

Hermione frowned. "Weren't you, er, not that great at Occlumency?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess something happened when Voldemort possessed me. The ability got triggered or something."

Hermione nodded, deep in thought.

"So, you all know that Dumbledore sounded awful when I talked to him in his office." Harry took a deep breath. "So when I talked to Snape, he told me that Voldemort has no intention of winning the war on the Ministry. He gains personal power every time a Death Eater dies." To forestall Hermione's inevitable question, Harry continued, "Something to do with the Dark Mark or something, I'm not too clear on that. Anyway," Harry swallowed, "Over the summer, Snape and I continued to correspond this summer, and he explained how Dumbledore also doesn't want this war to end."

This brought sharp, confused looks from everyone present.

"See," Harry explained, "The longer this war goes on, the longer Dumbledore gets to be the Leader of the Light. Snape was talking about how the Dark and Light are opposites, though not necessarily evil and good, respectively. The Dark is all about personal power. The Light is all about gaining power through using others."

Ron broke in. "Er, but isn't Voldemort gaining power through others?"

Harry nodded. "In a way. But Voldemort's ultimate goal is his own, personal power. He uses others to gain personal power."

Ron frowned. "How is that different then?"

"See, Dumbledore is bolstering others and using them to increase his own influence," Harry continued, "Dumbledore's goal is to be everywhere, important to everyone."

"And Voldemort's goal," continued Hermione, "Is to just continually increase his own personal magical power so that no one can topple him."

"Exactly," said Harry, "They're both after immortality, in a way. Dumbledore lives on through stories and people remembering him. Voldemort just lives on forever and is invincible."

"What's so wrong about Dumbledore's way?" asked Ginny, "That doesn't seem too bad to me."

Ron, who had been looking a little nervous at Harry's explanation, spoke up, "Yeah! Voldemort's way is obviously evil, but Dumbledore is still doing the right thing!"

Hermione quietly shook her head. "If what Harry is saying is true, then Dumbledore is actually just as bad as Voldemort." She shuddered. "If that's what Dumbledore is doing, he's after the same thing as Voldemort: immortality at the expense of other people."

Harry nodded. "He doesn't care who he hurts, or who he kills, in the pursuit of everyone, everywhere, doing his bidding. Snape calls it Dumbledore's Greater Good."

"Er, but, but he's still more right than Voldemort," sputtered Ron, "R-right?"

His desperation was palpable.

After a moment of heavy silence, Harry answered with a shrug. "Snape said that sometimes there isn't a _right_ choice, only a _better_ choice."

The four teens sat there, lost in their own thoughts. Harry glanced around to each of them. He knew that if he wanted to keep them as friends, he'd have to shepherd them through this crisis of faith. Snape hadn't done a _great_ job of that with Harry, probably because of how cynical Snape was, but ultimately Harry accepted this view of the world.

Harry glanced around to see how his friends were handling the news. Ron seemed to be having the worst time with it, probably due to how much he admired and respected Dumbledore. Ginny seemed on his side the most, perhaps due to her feelings for him, but probably also because Harry was a more immediate leader in her life. Hermione was obviously wrestling with the intellectual side of things, making sure Harry and Snape's logic was sound, before moving on to how she felt about everything.

With a kind smile, Harry addressed Ron. "You all right, mate? What are you thinking about?"

Ron sighed. "I dunno, Harry. I don't know if I can buy all this about Dumbledore being evil."

Harry had to stifle an eye roll at Ron's naivete, even though Harry had been just as bad two months ago. "It's not about being evil, mate. It's about being selfish." That piqued Ginny and Hermione's interest. "See, the issue with both of them comes down to how they're both putting themselves above everyone else. Voldemort is more direct about it, sure, but Dumbledore is just as guilty."

Ron shook his head. "He's saved us over and over again!"

"When?" Harry asked, sharply, "When, specifically, did Dumbledore put himself in danger to save us?"

"Just recently," exclaimed Ron, jutting his chin out, "In the Ministry! He dueled Voldemort to save you, right?"

Harry shrugged. "You mean the duel where Dumbledore's forces had already done _all_ of the fighting? The duel he could leave at any time due to the lack of Apparition wards? The duel he couldn't _possibly_ lose because of the back-up that was inevitably coming?" Harry gave Ron a rueful grin. "That duel?"

"Er," Ron thought for a second, "What about when he took the blame for the DA?"

"You mean when he took an opportunity to leave a sinking ship, where he was getting more and more boxed in by the Ministry, to be free and do whatever he wanted?" Harry replied casually. "Dumbledore never does anything that doesn't benefit himself. If it benefits others, great, but if not? Oh

well." Harry gave a sarcastic chuckle. "It's for the Greater Good after all."

Ron shuddered at Harry's tone. Hermione was looking at him as if she'd never seen anything like him before. Ginny was chuckling to herself at Ron getting shot down. From their reactions, Harry's friends were at least ready to accept his premise.

"So that brings us to last night," Harry said.

Ron nodded, though still looked shaken. Hermione and Ginny were attentive.

"Dumbledore came to get me, ostensibly to bring me here," Harry said, putting up a hand to forestall Ron's interruption, "But that wasn't his real reason. Like I said, he never does anything just for other people." Harry took a deep breath. "He took me to get an old Hogwarts professor to come back to the school. My mum was one of the professor's favorites, so I'm pretty sure that's why he took me with him."

"Oooh, what's the professor like?" Hermione broke in, eyes shining.

"Seemed all right," Harry said, picking up the photo from beside his bed, "He gave me this."

"Is that your mom?" asked Ginny, with interest, taking the photo, "She's beautiful!"

Harry nodded. "He holds dinner parties for certain students, I guess."

After everyone had looked at the photo, Harry took it back and continued, "So then, Dumbledore brought us here, to your shed." Ginny giggled. "Anyway, he told me about wanting to have lessons with him this year."

Hermione perked up again. "What about?"

"Voldemort, apparently," Harry shrugged, "He was really vague about it all."

"That doesn't seem all that maniacal," Ron said obtusely, "How does that prove Dumbledore is evil?"

"Not evil," Harry corrected, "Selfish. And it doesn't." Harry thought for a second. "Though, it does beg the question as to why he didn't being this up before, like when Voldemort first came back."

"I'm sure he has his reasons," Ron stated confidently.

Harry shrugged, exasperated. "Of course he does. Ron, I'm just saying that I don't inherently trust those reasons anymore." Harry took a deep breath. "He also told me about a prophecy."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I know, right?" Harry replied, "But he seemed to think it was important."

"Who gave it?" asked Ginny.

"Professor Trelawney," Harry answered.

Hermione huffed. "Her? I'd think Dumbledore would have more sense."

"Anyway," Harry forged ahead, "The prophecy identifies me, claims that I'll have some power that Voldemort doesn't know about, and that I have to be the one to kill him."

The group digested Harry's words for a moment.

Ron nodded. "Sounds about right, mate."

"Does he know what power it's talking about?" Hermione asked.

"Dumbledore thinks it's love," Harry answered, "But it's vague enough to be irrelevant."

"What?" Ron blurted out, "How can power be irrelevant?"

"No, Ron," Hermione said, "The power isn't what is irrelevant, Harry's saying that the prophecy is vague enough to be irrelevant."

"Right," Harry took up the torch, "The power could be literally _anything_ , as long as Voldemort doesn't know about it."

"Oh," Ron said, nodding sagely, "I see." He scratched his chin. "Maybe we should think about what it would be?"

Harry shook his head. "I'll figure it out when I have to."

"Hey," Ginny began slowly, "Is that what we were going to the Ministry for?"

Harry nodded. "It's smashed now, so Voldemort can't know what it says."

"Couldn't Dumbledore be lying about a prophecy?" Ginny asked. "Like, what if Trelawney made some prophecy about something that didn't matter?"

Harry frowned. "What would he gain by lying?"

"Well," Ginny continued thoughtfully, "If Dumbledore sees you as his weapon against Voldemort, that prophecy is all he needs to motivate you to find and kill Voldemort, right?"

"You're saying he made the whole thing up?" asked Ron, angrily.

"I'm saying it serves his interests for Harry to take out his opponent," corrected Ginny, just as angrily. "And that prophecy perfectly aims Harry right at Voldemort."

Harry began thinking out loud. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. It identifies only me, gives me confidence with that bit about 'power' and finishes by appealing to me, personally, by saying only I can do it." He shook his head in awe. "Well done, Ginny. That's really good."

"Hey!" said Ron, "We don't know if that's true!"

"We don't know that it's _not_ true, either," said Harry calmly. As vexing as Ron was being, Harry knew that he'd be just as stubborn if he was hearing this for the first time, and Harry owed it to his oldest mate to be as accommodating as possible. "The whole point of this, Ron, is that we don't know. I have reason not to trust Dumbledore, and I don't know if I can."

Ron frowned. "I don't know about all this, Harry. It's one thing to vaguely talk about motivations and stuff, but we've always trusted Dumbledore before and we've come through it all right."

Harry sighed. "If you're unwilling to hear what I'm saying, I don't know what to do, mate."

"Hey!" Ron cried, "What does that mean?"

"I'm saying that Dumbledore doesn't have our best interests at heart," Harry said, as respectfully as he could, "I'm saying that we can't trust him, as evidenced by the fact that he constantly puts us, and especially me, in danger. I'm saying that I'm not on his side any more." Harry's words were calm, clear, and final.

There was a stunned silence around the room. Ron, after his face contorted from shock to anger, silently got up and walked out. Harry watched him sadly. Maybe he'd come around. He always had in the past. Hermione and Ginny were both still shocked by Harry's proclamation. Harry could see the gears turning in their heads, deciding if they should stay with him or leave, like Ron.

"I'm working on this idea," Harry said quietly.

"What idea?" asked Hermione, as quietly.

"I obviously can't be on Voldemort's side," Harry said, with conviction, "But I also can't be on Dumbledore's side."

"Isn't it like Snape said?" asked Ginny, "Isn't Dumbledore the better choice, even if he isn't the right choice?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't like that reasoning."

Hermione nodded. "Choosing between the lesser of two evils is still choosing evil."

"So, my idea," Harry said, slowly, "Is that I make my own side."

Hermione and Ginny stared at him, a bit dumfounded, a bit awestruck.

"I create the third option," Harry said, looking up at the two girls, "The _right_ option."

* * *

Harry spent much of the rest of the summer doing homework with Hermione, eating lots of Mrs Weasely's food, and passively trying to make peace with Ron. Harry didn't like being on the outs with his best friend, especially when they were living in the same house, but he didn't really have an avenue to approach the other boy. Harry hadn't done anything wrong, that he could see, and so had no reason to apologize, but on the other hand, there was no other way to actually approach Ron actively. So there was an uneasy coldness between the two, fortunately mostly ignored by the rest of the people living in The Burrow.

A lot of members of the Order also stopped by in the month and a half or so before September, which nicely spiced up Harry's dreary, grey summer. The Order seemed to be more aggressive in their dealings with the Death Eaters, something Harry had been expecting. Dumbledore giving more active orders allowed him the illusion of being proactive and making progress, but the clandestine nature of the war meant that actual progress was hard to see. This meant that all measures of success were created by Dumbledore, and so the old man got to orchestrate the war as he saw fit.

Tonks came by a few times for Sunday dinner, though Harry wondered if her heart was really in it or not. Every time he saw her, Tonks' hair was a duller and duller brownish gray, her eyes more and more lacked the joyous spark of life that Harry was used to seeing. At first, Harry wondered if the Greysight was affecting his view of the usually vivacious Metamorphmagus, but after discussing his thoughts with Hermione, it seemed that Tonks was just having a rough time of it.

Lupin came by once or twice, looking even more roughed up and disheveled than normal, with grim tales of his time amongst the pro-Voldemort werewolves. Harry did his best to spend as much time as possible with Lupin when he could, and the older man seemed to notice Harry's efforts. Thinking about Lupin's mission irritated Harry. It was a perfect example of Dumbledore's hypocrisy. Dumbledore got to pretend to everyone else that he was making progress with a certain set of the population, while he took no actual risk to himself. Lupin was the one revealing himself as a member of the Order, putting himself in all of the danger, while Dumbledore got all the credit. And, worst of all, from what Lupin was saying, the werewolves were no closer to working with Dumbledore than they had ever been. So all of the risk to Lupin was for nothing. And while Dumbledore didn't lose anything, he could keep putting Lupin in danger.

The night before everyone was planning to go to Diagon Alley, Mrs Weasely put together an exceptionally large dinner and invited everyone she could to enjoy her dinner together. Perhaps intentionally, though also perhaps by coincidence, Ron and Harry were placed next to each other. Harry had resolved to make the best of it, and maybe even reconnect with the boy, but in a startlingly out of character moment, Ron claimed to be too sick to come to dinner. Harry couldn't even remember a time Ron hadn't been able to eat. Harry _vividly_ remembered back in second year, when Ron had been shoving dinner into his mouth, around the slugs he'd been vomiting at the time, while Madam Pomfrey tried to figure out which counter-curse to use.

Suspicions aside, Harry had a fine time that night, the company even pushing through the cynicism that always accompanied Greysight. The meal was extensive and delicious, and left Harry feeling stuffed with the joy of life. Harry's month and a half of Greysight had given him a little glimpse into how dreary and depressing Snape's last ten years had been, but in moments like this, Harry wondered if all Snape needed was a hearty, home cooked meal.

After dinner, some of the guests left, and Harry found himself sitting in the living room with Tonks. She'd been quiet throughout dinner, answering the occasional question, smiling sometimes, but largely just playing around with her food.

"Wanna listen to some Celestina Warbeck?" Harry asked wryly.

"Oh God, please no," sighed Tonks, "We get enough of that round the hols."

Harry chuckled. "So how's your summer going? You've been looking a bit, er, peaky recently."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "How's this then?" She sarcastically elongated her lips into a gruesome parody of a smile. Simultaneously, the color of her skin brightened to an almost blinding white. "Better then, Potter?" she asked, her lips somehow not moving.

Harry grimaced. "Not at all. Merlin, Tonks, I'm just seeing if you're all right?"

Tonks' face snapped back to normal, and the furor left it. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said with a sigh, "This hasn't been the greatest summer."

Harry nodded. Sirius' death had apparently affected her quite a lot. "That's for sure." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Want to talk about it?"

Tonks looked at Harry, a bit confused. "Where do you get off consoling me? I'm the older one, right?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm the Chosen One."

Tonks laughed, and her hair grew a shade lighter. "You are that, I suppose." She sighed. "I'm worried about the Order, mostly." After a moment, she continued, "And Remus, I suppose."

Harry nodded. "Sounds like he has a rough lot." After Tonks nodded, Harry asked, "What's up with the Order?"

Tonks shrugged. "I just feel like we're not doing enough, you know?"

Harry paused before answering. Maybe he could get Tonks to join his side. Hermione and Ginny were almost certainly on board, so it wasn't like he was alone in his ideas. But as Harry looked at how forlorn Tonks was, he couldn't help but despise that thought. Taking advantage of someone's low spirits was something Dumbledore would do. Harry decided to do his best to comfort her, and mention his new plan if it came up. Tonks, as a person, was more important than Harry's plan for her.

"I sort of agree," confessed Harry, "The problem is, I'm not sure what else to do."

"Yeah, I guess," said Tonks wistfully, "I just have this feeling that we're not doing enough, or like not the right things? I don't know." She looked at Harry with an embarrassed smile. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

Harry smiled back. "I get it. You want to stop the crazy man from killing everyone." He squeezed her shoulder. "Let's figure it out together, all right?"

Tonks' hair grew another shade lighter. "Thanks, Harry. I really appreciate that." She stood up. "I should get going."

Harry stood and gave her a quick hug. "Are you guarding us tomorrow?"

Tonks shook her head. "Naw, kiddo, I've got Auror patrolling all day. Keep your nose clean in the Alley, all right?"

Harry nodded. "See you later!"

As Tonks walked over to the fireplace to Floo home, Harry thought over their conversation. He'd done good job at comforting her and, if her hair was to be believed, she was happier than she had been before dinner. Before dinner, her hair had been a dingy brown, lanced through with gray. Now, it was almost a honey-brown, pretty close to Lupin's hair color, now that Harry thought of it.

Harry had also done a decent job at laying groundwork for telling Tonks about Dumbledore, and eventually getting her on Harry's side. Though, of course, that wasn't the important part of their conversation. The more he thought about it, the more Harry thought that Tonks would agree with his ideas, and even help him out with his plans. Well, Harry didn't really have _plans_ yet, but with Hermione and Ginny's help, he'd get there.

Harry went to bed excited for the next day. His grey world was a bit brighter as he fell asleep staring at the squiggles he knew were his mother.

* * *

The next morning, the whole group of them trundled into the sleek, black cars provided by the Ministry, only slightly held up by Ron needing an extra helping of bacon to face the dreaded prospect of shopping. The actual trip to the Alley was uneventful, if a little quiet. No one really had anything to say, and there was only so much mood-lightening banter Mrs Weasely could come up with. When they all arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Mrs Weasely reminded everyone of their shopping plan.

"Right, so we'll all go together, first to Gringotts, then to Flourish and Blotts, then to the Apothecary, then pop in to Fred and George's shop, and finally lunch back here, then go home." She took a breath after her monologue. "Any questions?"

"Er," Harry began, "Would you mind terribly if we all just shopped for ourselves?"

"Harry, it's not safe," said Mrs Weasely, as if to a five year old, "We have to travel together for safety."

"I think Harry's right, Mum," Ron said, "It'll be faster to go separately. Isn't fast safe?"

Mrs Weasely balked. "Er, well-"

"Besides," said Hermione, matter-of-factly, "If we're all in different groups, we have more eyes on a potential situation. More chances to see an attack coming, not to mention more strategic positions to fight back from."

"Um, dear?" Mrs Weasely asked, turning to her husband.

Mr Weasely shrugged. "They may have the right of it, dear. They aren't children, after all."

Mrs Weasely's face contorted, battling with herself. "Oh all right. Go on, then." She grabbed Mr Weasely and sat in a nearby booth. "We'll stay here. Hurry up you lot!"

The teens walked into the back of the bar and stared down the secret wall.

Harry had his wand out, ready to tap the brick, when Ron spoke up. "I didn't do that cuz I agree with you," Ron said, his ears noticeably red, "I just wanted to shop without Mum hovering over us all the time."

"I know," Harry said, "Do you want to shop with us?"

Ron huffed. "Probably not. Dean said he'd be here today, so I'll probably go with him."

Harry nodded, a little sad. "Right you are, mate. See you later." He turned and tapped the wall.

The many bricks melted away until Harry was staring at, well, a completely normal alley. Sure there were odd advertisements here and there, but Harry didn't see any of the blindingly garish posters hawking ridiculous goods he associated with the alley. All of the shops could have been Muggle shops for all the magic they displayed. Sure, the posters read "Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans" or "Deal on Owl Droppings!" but they were in simple colored ink, on flat paper, against bleak walls.

"Blimey, that's disappointing," muttered Harry, as Ron pushed past him.

"What is?" asked Ginny brightly.

"All of the ads," Harry said, "They're all...boring."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean 'boring'?"

"They're just colored ink on normal paper," Harry said, "I can't see any of their magic."

"What?" asked Ginny, her mouth dropping, "Why?"

"Greysight, I guess," Harry replied, "I can't see portraits either." He thought back to his conversation with Snape. "Snape said Greysight blocked all magical attempts to influence my emotions. Apparently, the posters are thick with charms."

"That makes sense," sighed Hermione, "Shop owners need people to buy their wares, after all."

Harry grimaced. "Influencing emotions to turn a profit is dirty."

"Harry, that's all advertising is. Magical or Muggle," Hermione reminded him, "Everyone does it."

"Oh. Right." Harry kept walked into the Alley. "Gringott's, then?"

"I don't need to," said Hermione, hefting her wallet.

"Yeah, Mum already gave me my money," said Ginny.

"I see." Harry nodded. "Let me try that again, then." Harry adopted a falsely cheery tone. "Hey, I need to go to Gringott's before we go shopping, do you want to come with me?"

Ginny chuckled. "Sounds good, Harry. Lead the way."

Harry set off down the unfortunately mundane Diagon Alley towards the imposing white marble structure. It was a bit surreal, almost like Harry was walking down a completely different alley, but with all the same shops and attractions. He recognized all of the store names and wares being sold, but nothing looked the same. Even the mainstays like Ollivander's were completely different, though recognizable in the oddest ways. Harry found himself recognizing stores by things like window shape and door color, rather than the previously garish banners.

"I wonder if Hogsmeade will be like this," Harry muttered, after walking by the depressingly mundane Owlery.

"Remind me what Snape said?" asked Hermione, "About what you can't see."

"Just something about resisting magical emotional tampering," Harry said, raising an eyebrow at a stack of Prophets waiting to be distributed.

"Don't have any Cheering Chocolate, then," Ginny said, adopting a pained expression.

Harry chuckled. "It would probably just taste like chocolate."

"I know," Ginny said seriously, "But their chocolate is terrible. It's why they added the Cheering Charm."

"That's-" Hermione paused, "That's just-"

"Dirty?" Harry smirked. "But Hermione, that's all competition is. Everyone does it."

Hermione huffed. "It's different."

Harry and Ginny laughed before continuing on to the Wizarding bank.

When the trio was standing in front of Gringott's, however, something was off. Harry had always felt a sense of gravitas when standing in front of the bank; some vague intimidation that made the bank's warning feel _real_. Standing in front of it now, though, Harry felt no such thing. The bank was just that: a powerful institution of the Wizarding World, but nothing more. Its poetic warning seemed nothing more than some trite rhymes to Harry. He idly wondered if there really was intimidation magic around Gringott's or if he was just more cynical and resistant to wonder.

After taking money out of the bank, Harry and the girls finished their required shopping pretty quickly. Hermione had to be dragged out of Flourish and Blott's, and Ginny pouted when they left the Owlery, but before long, they had everything they needed.

Harry let himself sink into the basic, mundane task of shopping, welcoming the distraction from the new world he found himself in. His first brush with Greysight had been brief, and his mind had been so troubled that he hardly remembered anything aside from his conversation with Snape, but now Harry had been given a much deeper understanding of how the ability affected him. There were times that Harry felt no different in Greysight, but there were times when his world was completely rocked. It was bizarre. He couldn't tell if he was becoming more cynical because of the Greysight or if it was an over-correction due to his doubt about Dumbledore.

Harry didn't want to become like Snape. He respected Snape more and more for what the man had done, not just selfishly, but for the Wizarding World as a whole, but the man was cold, cynical, condescending, and close-minded. Harry could not afford to be any of those things, especially if he wanted to follow through on his idea of creating the Right Side, a working name Harry was rather fond of. In order to be different enough from Dumbledore and Voldemort, Harry had to value individual people more highly than himself. He'd need to do the right thing on their behalf, but not for himself. It was an incredibly important distinction. He'd have to-

"Harry?" Hermione's voice broke into Harry's thoughts. "We're at Fred and George's."

Harry blinked himself back from his mindscape. He'd never been able to walk while _thinking_ before. "Huh? What?"

Hermione gave him a scrutinizing stare. "Are you all right? You've been sort of out of it since the Apothecary."

"I've been thinking," Harry answered simply. He turned to look at the shop Ginny had been gushing about, and was immediately in love with it. A gigantic red-headed animatronic man waved and gestured with a wand, causing little sparks and colorful whirls to shoot into the air. The storefront was as garishly colored as Harry had expected the rest of the Alley to be: a painfully bright purple, with the windows frosted with a light blue. Weasely's Wizard Wheezes was emblazoned across the animatronic man's top hat in fiery golden print. Hermione had been wrong. Not _everyone_ manipulated emotions with their advertising.

There were easily twice as many people here as Harry had seen in any other shop, and all seemed to be having the time of their lives. As the trio walked into the shop proper, Harry was floored at the sheer amount of products that seemed to be for sale. At Hogwarts, Fred and George had seemed to only make food-based pranks, but they'd truly outdone themselves with this variety of selection. Everything from trick wands, to noisemakers that could turn invisible, even on to a very well displayed set of love potions.

Ignoring Hermione's annoyed _tsk_ at this last, Harry set off into the store to find Fred and George themselves. Unsurprisingly, the two master pranksters were holding court in the middle of the store, demonstrating a new product: The Emperor's Cloak. The cloak was obviously well-made, and quite nice-looking, something anyone would be glad to own. But, when it was fastened around someone's shoulders, it made all of the clothes it touched invisible. So, Fred would make a fake sales pitch to George, who would over-eagerly pay mounds of money, then be overly disappointed when the cloak would simply make his shirt disappear.

After the demonstration, Harry approached the twins. "I think you've single-handedly cornered the preteen boy market with that thing," Harry remarked dryly.

"Harry!" exclaimed Fred, "Bully good to see you, old bean!"

"Bean!" exclaimed George, "Harry good to see you, old bully!"

Harry chuckled. "How's the shop going?"

"Quite well, as expected," said Fred, "Things are flying off the shelves!"

"Even things that aren't supposed to!" said George, "You'll never guess what our biggest seller is!"

Harry rolled his eyes, "The love potions?"

"Shield Charmed hats, actually," said Fred, "We thought it would a bit of a laugh, right?"

"Challenge your mate to curse you," explained George, "Then laugh when nothing works, right?"

Harry nodded.

"But the Ministry placed a massive order for it entire support staff," said Fred, shaking his head, "Bloody mental how few of them can cast a decent Shield Charm."

"But feel free to take anything you want," said George, grabbing a few random boxes off the shelves and shoving them into Harry's arms, "You don't pay here."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You sure? I can afford it."

Fred leaned in close. "Listen, mate, it's only thanks to you that we such a ridiculous amount of capital that we could even do all this in the first place."

Fred straightened and both twins bowed in unison. "We are at your service, Mr Harry Potter, sir."

Harry shook his head. "You two are insane."

George winked. "Better to be insane in an insane world, than sane in a sane one."

Harry frowned, trying to work through if that were true or not. On the one hand, Harry supposed that anything could happen in an insane world, but it would also lack the rule and order people relied on. So, perhaps if one were lucky, insane would be better, but then-

"Harry, it's a joke," said George, pulling Harry out of his thoughts, "Don't think so hard."

Harry laughed. "Sorry, sorry, I've been thinking a lot this summer."

"Well, don't," said Fred, "Life is about doing, not thinking."

Harry nodded slowly. "Well, I don't want to keep you from your customers."

"Right then, if you need anything," Fred said, leaving to deal with an assistant.

"Just let us know!" finished George, leaving to join his brother.

Harry found his way back to Hermione and Ginny, who were cooing over some little pets called Pygmy Puffs.

"See anything you like?" Harry asked, from behind the two girls.

"Aren't they precious, Harry?" asked Ginny, lifting a small blue puffball out of its display, and showing it off in the palm of her hand.

Harry laughed. "They really are. Do you want one?"

Ginny nodded with an earnest look on her face.

"And you, Hermione, do you want anything?" Harry asked.

"Er, maybe this," Hermione timidly held up what looked a Muggle can of soda.

Harry took it and read, "Drinkable Daydream: Romantic Evening, huh?"

Hermione snatched the can back, her face red. "Sh-shut up."

Just then, Ginny looked at something over Harry's shoulder. "Hey, isn't that Malfoy?"

Harry turned and, sure enough, there was Malfoy seemingly arguing with his mother outside the store. After maybe ten seconds, Draco yelled something, then stormed off, leaving his mother behind. Mrs Malfoy watched her son go, her eyes sad, before turning and walking out of sight.

"That was...weird," said Hermione, frowning slightly.

"Should we check it out?" asked Ginny, "He might be up to something."

Harry stared after Draco for a bit longer before shrugging. "We have bigger things to do this year than worry about Draco."

Hermione gave Harry a shocked look. "Are you sure? I'd have thought you would want to follow him or something."

Harry shrugged. "If he becomes a relevant concern, we'll deal with him. Until then..." Harry snatched the can of daydream away from Hermione. "Let's go buy you a nice evening," he said with a smirk.

* * *

A bit later, the trio were sitting around a table in Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, enjoying a nice reprieve from walking about everywhere. Harry was enjoying something straight out of Dudley's fantasies, no doubt, a frankly criminal amount of coffee ice cream topped with caramel and these nuts that would imitate the taste of any one of three other nuts. Fortescue had explained that these nuts were what inspired the Every Flavor Beans. Ginny was demolishing a strawberry sundae, packed to the top with fudge and happiness. Hermione had chosen a banana split with a butterscotch toffee sauce drizzled on top, and she was happily picking at it.

Harry had about half of his ice cream abomination left when Ginny sat back in her seat, contentedly full of delicious ice cream. "Ah, that hit the spot."

Harry hated to admit defeat, but the sheer amount of ice cream was just too much for him. "Oof, I think it hit too many spots for me, actually."

Hermione's grin at her ice cream slowly dissolved into a pensive frown.

"You all right Hermione?" Ginny asked, "There's no Arithmancer's Puzzle in your banana split."

Hermione gave a quick little nod to herself and pushed her split away. "Harry, about what you said that first morning, I have an answer."

Harry tilted his head. "Oh?"

Hermione looked up at him, fire in her eyes. "I've been puzzling about it for the past month, and I have to say that Dumbledore's actions are, at least, questionable."

Harry nodded, not wanting to put words in her mouth.

"So, I have to say," she continued, choosing her words carefully, "That I'm with you. I'm on your side."

"Me too!" exclaimed Ginny, "I never knew Dumbledore all that well, and I trust you more anyway, Harry."

Harry was speechless, staring at Hermione and Ginny. He had expected this, at least insofar as they hadn't abandoned him like Ron had, but he was completely overwhelmed by the trust they were placing in him. Harry had thought he'd been prepared for people wanting to join him, he'd thought that he was prepared for a following, but the emotions flowing through him were far more than he'd been expecting.

Suddenly, the ice cream shop exploded into color, advertisements garish and beautiful again, Harry's ice cream suddenly more complex and intricate, but the biggest changes were in Hermione and Ginny's eyes. Harry knew that there was no way they were magically manipulating him with their eyes, but suddenly there was so much more life in those pupils than there had been. Somehow, Greysight had dampened how Harry saw these two girls who trusted him, who would follow him.

In that moment, Harry hated Greysight.

* * *

 **AN: I really appreciate the reviews I get from this story, even more so than normal. This story is hard for me to write, as it's not in my normal style, so you all liking it makes me feel really good. Thanks!**


	4. Train

**AN: Sorry for the _incredible_ hiatus. No excuses, but if you want the _reason_ , feel free to PM me. I hope you like this chapter, feel free to comment/PM with any concerns, interesting theories, or complaints that I don't update enough. I welcome it all.**

* * *

When Harry awoke the next day, it was to the smiling and mischievous visage of his mother. Harry felt a smile stretch his lips and a stark happiness surge in his chest. So many nights, this picture had simply been a cacophony of lines and squiggles, but now Harry could revel in the joy that shone in his mother's eyes. He could pretend that she was watching him live his life. And he could, in what he hoped was a healthy way, talk to her.

Harry had been up late the previous night, simply telling his mother all about what he was going through. About Voldemort, about Dumbledore, and all about the friends he'd made and the adventures they'd shared. The purely logical part of his mind added in that a portrait would make a good sounding board and a portrait specifically of his mother made Harry much less likely to come up with morally reprehensible plans. The cynical part of his mind shut up and let him have this one.

Harry got up and glanced around his room, realizing with a jolt that he hadn't bothered to pack anything. He grunted a curse and got up, throwing his various clothes and books into his open trunk. He didn't have time to fold anything, nor did he have time to organize his trunk in any way, but his burst of energy did mean that he got everything into his trunk before he heard a tentative knock on his door.

"Yeah?" Harry called, breathless and panting slightly, "What is it?"

"It's Hermione," said the voice, "Can I come in?"

Harry glanced down at himself and swore again. He was still wearing pajamas and had just packed all of his clothes. He straightened and thought quickly, weighing making her wait while he got dressed versus the embarrassment they'd both feel at his lack of proper wear. Not to mention, if the conversation lasted a while, there was a worry that Harry wouldn't have time to dress before they left for the station, and then he'd have to be in pajamas until they got into their robes before Hogwarts. But, at the same time, she sounded like she needed to talk, and was nervous about it. Any putting off of the talk would probably make her feel like Harry didn't want to talk to her.

That clinched it. "Come on in, Hermione," Harry said, his breath catching up to him, "I'm in my pajamas, though."

"Oh!" the voice exclaimed, "You can get dressed, I don't mind."

Harry walked over and opened the door firmly. "Come in, it's fine."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock at the sudden movement, but she nodded and walked into the room. "Thanks."

Harry closed the door and turned around, Hermione moving to the bed and sitting on it. She frowned, apparently not knowing how to start. Harry waited patiently, though the logical part of his minded urged him to break the silence. She was taking too long! They'd have to leave soon! Harry brushed that away and moved to the bed, sitting next to the girl.

Hermione glanced over and gave Harry a brief smile. "Nice pajamas."

Harry grinned ruefully. "I'd just packed everything when I realized I was still wearing these."

Hermione glanced at the clear floor and the closed trunk then chuckled. "And here I thought Greysight made you smarter."

Harry shook his head sagely. "Merely more logical. Acting on impulse is just as random as ever."

Hermione smiled at the comment, but soon her smile faded into a pensive frown.

"There's no Arithmancer's Puzzle on my floor, Hermione," Harry prodded gently.

Hermione rolled her eyes quickly. "Have you thought about splitting off onto the Right Side?" When Harry opened his mouth to reply, she spoke again. "I mean, more than just the idea to do it."

Harry opened his mouth, but paused. He hadn't, not really. But what would he tell Hermione? Would she leave him if he didn't have a plan? Harry mentally slapped himself. He wouldn't lie, not to Hermione, not to his allies. That's what _they_ did.

"No," he said, shaking his head, "Not beyond the obvious."

Hermione nodded. "The first thing you should do is figure out your measure of success." She turned towards Harry. "Decide when you have won, and when you can stop fighting." She paused. "And even when you've lost."

Harry frowned in thought, his mind swirling with possibilities and specifics and eventualities and –

"Harry?" Hermione put a hand on his, a bemused smile on her face. "Not right now. Take your time." She squeezed his hand. "But think about it."

Harry nodded. "Thanks." After a brief silence, both of them enjoying the contact, Harry said, "Is there anything else?"

"Think carefully about who you let in," Hermione said, "Allies for their own sake is not always wise."

Harry nodded, thinking over how he'd felt when the DA had been betrayed the previous year, and how he could avoid that sort of thing in the future. He'd have to vet his allies more carefully than he had before. Of course, the easiest way to ensure loyalty was some sort of leverage, but that idea was utterly distasteful to him. Aside from that, the smaller numbers Harry had, the less chance there was of a spy or even just less chance of someone choosing to switch sides. Harry would have more face time with each person and would thus both inspire more loyalty and better see the signs of betrayal in people.

Harry had no illusions that his side would, by far, be the smallest. Voldemort and Dumbledore had both acquired their various allies and resources over decades and decades. Harry might, _might_ , have a few months on his own before Dumbledore realized the betrayal. Then, if Snape was to be believed, Harry's days would be numbered. Dumbledore hated betrayal even more than Voldemort, though his methods of dealing with the traitor were often more subtle.

Tangent aside, Harry mentally rolled his eyes, small numbers was the key.

Harry could probably use the small numbers to his advantage, even. He'd have to figure that out, though. Bigger numbers tended to win battles, at least as far as Harry was concerned. Muggle history class, while long ago, might be useful after all. Harry set that away to ponder at another time. He emerged from his mindscape to see Hermione staring at him.

Harry blinked. He could see some emotion in her eyes that he hadn't ever seen before. When she realized he was looking at her, Hermione got a red tinge to her cheeks and turned away.

"Do I have something on my face?" Harry asked quietly, offering a way out.

Hermione didn't take it. "No, I just-" She paused then looked at him. "I like watching you think." She smiled, embarrassed, but not ashamed.

"W-why?" It was the first thing out of his mouth.

Hermione flushed brighter. "I...don't know." The lie was obvious, but Harry let her have that.

"Well!" he said, standing abruptly, "I should probably get dressed."

Hermione nodded and stood. "I'll just-"

There was a knock on the door.

Both teens froze. Harry knew what it would look like, especially to Mrs Weasely, and he did _not_ want to have that conversation. Harry glanced quickly at the window, but it was locked and wouldn't that just make them look more guilty? They were both fully clothed, but he _was_ in his pajamas, but surely that-

The knock sounded again. "Harry? Breakfast time!" It was Ginny. Probably the worst person to be at the door.

"Er, I'll be right down," called Harry. Hermione had quietly put a hand on her mouth, to muffle her gasp. "Just changing right now."

"Oh!" The voice raised an octave. "I'll just see you down there, then."

Harry hardly dared to breathe until her footsteps disappeared down the stairs. He caught Hermione's eye and the two began to laugh uncontrollably, first in little spasmodic chuckles, then in great gales of merriment. Harry managed to pull himself together first. Hermione soon followed suit, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"I'll just be going, then," she said, still chuckling lightly, "I'll see you downstairs."

She turned and opened the door. Standing just outside, going down the stairs, was Ron. All three of them froze. Harry felt a chill sweep down his back. He knew how bad this looked. The logical part of his mind assured him that it was much better that they hadn't actually done anything. The cynical part of his mind knew that Ron probably wasn't going to be an ally anyway, that this was no big loss. But Harry saw the look on Ron's face, saw the hurt slowly turn into a fierce, cold anger. And Harry knew that he hadn't just lost a friend. He'd made an enemy.

* * *

The trip to King's Cross was cold and unpleasant. Ginny quickly picked up from Ron's icy glare that something else had happened, but she didn't say anything about it. Mrs Weasely again bravely attempted light-hearted conversation with the four teens, but Ron relied rather scathingly that he had a headache and wanted quiet and Mrs Weasely gave it up as a bad job. Harry and Hermione were sitting next to each other, something that probably didn't help the whole situation, but Ron largely ignored the seating arrangement and glowered at the fogged up window, as though trying to melt it all down.

Harry took the time to think about his plans, now that Ron was likely implacably against them. The youngest Weasely boy was not, perhaps, the most threatening enemy to Harry, and especially Hermione, given his lack of brains and his mediocre spell-casting, but in more personal terms, Ron commanded a strong loyalty amongst the boys of Gryffindor. Harry knew, from the previous year, that even the boys in his dorm would turn against him relatively easily, and Ron could turn them against Harry in an instant. Harry allowed himself a quick, sarcastic chuckle at the _great loss_ of losing such wizarding talent as Dean "Acceptable" Thomas and Seamus "Not quite Dreadful" Finnigan. When Harry's mind reminded him that Neville was a member of that group, he sobered instantly.

While Harry had never planned to actively recruit, as such, he knew that Hogwarts would be where he gained the most support for his Right Side, and that his standing with the student body would greatly affect who would even be open to his ideas. With the boys of Gryffindor likely going against Harry, his thoughts turned to the girls of Gryffindor. With a sudden twinge of something close to shame, Harry realized he didn't actually know the girls of Gryffindor at all. The most time he'd spent with any of them individually had been at the Yule Ball when he'd, likely, disappointed Parvati and spent the whole night sulking with Ron rather than dancing with her. Suffice to say, the Gryffindor girls would likely be an uphill battle.

Harry was pulled from his mindscape when the smooth, black Ministry car pulled up to King's Cross and the brusque, standoffish Auror efficiently removed the teens' trunks from the boot of the car. The Auror, Relysh? Harry thought, glanced around to see if Muggles were watching, then shrunk the trunks and handed them off to the appropriate owner. Harry was mildly impressed that he made no mistakes in handing off the bags, even without asking.

Ron, as soon as he could, tore off towards the barrier, ignoring the shrieks of his mother, and didn't look back as he disappeared into the surging crowds outside the station. Harry felt the uncomfortable, nervous feeling he'd had the whole car ride settle into a solid knot in the pit of his stomach. He turned to Hermione and Ginny and gave an uncertain grin before striding forward into the station. Mrs Weasely followed them, muttering darkly about what she'd do to Ron the next time he came home for the holidays. Harry was suddenly grateful that the Dursleys had been Muggle, rather than magical.

The three teens, and the fuming matriarch, walked to Platform 9 ¾ with practiced ease, and moved through barrier with barely a second thought. Harry took in the absurdly bright gold and scarlet train with a sense of nostalgia, the masses of people and smoke pouring out of the smoke stack reminding him suddenly of his first trip on the Express. Harry was most definitely _not_ that eleven year old boy anymore.

With a long hug and short goodbye, Harry led the way away from Mrs Weasely and onto the train itself, quickly finding a compartment for the three of them. They closed the door to the compartment and settled in, Harry and Hermione sitting on one side, with a seat between them, and Ginny in the middle seat on the other side. Harry glanced out the window and swept his gaze up and down the platform, looking for familiar faces. There was Luna, saying goodbye to her oddly dressed father, there was Lavender and Pavarti laughing and flirting with several Ravenclaw boys, there was Ron muttering darkly with Seamus and Dean, and there was…

Harry frowned.

There was Malfoy. But he wasn't swaggering and braggadocios as Harry would have expected. He was hunched forward, pulling his greatcoat close around his rich, black suit, and he was glancing this way and that as though a rat looking to dash across a kitchen floor. He reached over and unconsciously adjusted his left sleeve, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. With a conscious effort, Malfoy straightened his back and swaggered onto the platform proper, calling greetings Harry could not hear to friends Harry could not see. _That_ was the Malfoy Harry knew, and seeing the smarmy little ponce scared and nervous etched itself into Harry's mind. It was somehow far more worrying to see Malfoy scared than to see him arguing with his mother in Diagon Alley.

When Malfoy left Harry's peripheral vision, Harry turned back to his compartment. Hermione had pulled open a book and Ginny was reading a copy of _Witch Weekly_. Harry grinned to himself and nestled further into the stiff-backed seat, seeking comfort but not expecting to find it. Ginny glanced up at the movement and grinned when she saw Harry looking at her.

The red-head put the magazine down and asked, "What happened with Ron this morning? Why was he all out of sorts?"

Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was _very_ interested in her book. Sighing mentally, he turned back to Ginny. "He misunderstood something he saw this morning."

"What?" asked Ginny, her voice light and lacking all guile.

"Er," Harry began, before stopping to think about it. Harry's instinct was to tell the truth as, after all, he and Hermione had not actually been in a compromising situation. However, Harry was unsure whether or not Ginny's feelings for him had passed. If Ron was any indication, Weaselys reacted _very_ badly to compromising romantic situations, and Harry was quite keen to avoid that with an ally. Harry had also always been told that women flew off the handle more violently than men and he wasn't entirely excited about experiencing the Bat-Bogey Hex that made Ginny so dangerous.

"I went to Harry's room to talk to him about something," Hermione said quietly, without looking up from her book, "Ron saw me leaving."

"Oh, is that it?" Ginny asked, "What a twit!" She smiled to herself and went back to her magazine.

Harry and Hermione shared an unnerved look. Surely that had gone rather _too_ easily.

Before anything else could happen, though, the train began moving and the three teens were distracted with waving at Mrs Weasely standing on the platform, smiling and waving back at them. Harry felt a twinge in his stomach at the thought that she was probably waving at Ron as well; that his best mate not three months ago was likely vilifying him to a group of boys that would be sleeping not three yards from Harry. Ron had, obviously been estranged from Harry at times before, but nothing like this had ever crossed Harry's mind.

Fond memories of him, Ron, and Hermione going to and from Hogwarts, talking and joking and speculating what the year would hold for them. Hermione would be reading some incredibly dense tome or other, Ron would be regaling Harry with some story about the Chudley Cannons, and Harry would be basking in the presence of friends after a whole summer of nothing but the Dursleys. Hermione scolding Ron about having to finish his homework on the Express itself, rather than over the summer when he'd had "an abundance of time," and Ron's various, insufficient, protestations.

Harry stared out of the window at the passing terrain for a while, his chin resting on his palm, his mind wandering where it willed. He knew that he should probably be trying to get back into Greysight for his lessons with Snape, but Harry just couldn't bring himself to make the attempt. Harry was just too happy, too content to want to change his mindset to be colder and more cynical. Harry had no doubt what Snape would say to that mindset, but watching the peaceful scenery flow by in a blur of grass and sky lent Harry a serenity that even the specter of a displeased Snape could not banish.

Harry slowly came out of his reverie and found Ginny stealing glances at him. Harry tucked that away for future analysis and was about to say something when the compartment door slid open and a breathless third year stumbled in.

"Er, this is for Harry Patter," she burst out. When she realized her mistake, she went scarlet. "Potter! Oh my gosh, Harry Potter! I'm so sorry, how could I get _your_ name wrong!?" She took a breath. "You're _Harry_ _Bloody Potter_ , you're the Chosen One, you're-"

"It's all right," Harry said, taking the note, "Thank you."

"I don't know," piped up Ginny, "I think I'll start calling you Harry Patter from now on."

"Patter does have a nice ring to it," murmured Hermione without looking up from her book.

"Please, no," said the girl, quietly despairing, "Please let this be a nightmare."

"What's your name?" Harry asked the girl, kindly.

"Rinoa Waterson," she mumbled, obviously mortified.

"All right then, Rinoa Yasterson," Harry said with a grin, "I'll see you around Hogwarts."

The girl looked up, saw Harry's smile, and sagged with relief. "Ooooooh, ok, I deserved that." She straightened and tried a grin at Harry. She was mostly successful. "See you around, Potter."

Rinoa turned and left the compartment and Harry sat back down, opening his letter.

"What's it say, Patter?" asked Ginny, no trace of a smirk on her face.

Harry sighed at the comment. "It's an invitation to lunch with Slughorn."

"Who?" asked Hermione, looking over with a thumb in her book.

"Oh, right," Harry said, "The new professor I recruited over the summer, the one who gave me that picture of my mother."

"What did you think of him?" Hermione asked, putting the book on the seat between them.

"He seemed nice enough," said Harry, "Said he hosted dinner parties for his favorite students."

"That sounds rather dodgy," said Hermione.

"My mother went to them," said Harry.

"Oh. Well then." Hermione glanced desperately around the compartment. "I suppose there's a _chance_ they aren't dodgy."

Harry shrugged. "I'll check it out, in any case. I wanted to thank him again for the picture, anyway, and it can't hurt to get to know him a bit more before school."

Hermione chewed her upper lip, obviously torn between the inherent advantages in meeting an unknown teacher before classes and her hesitancy at the "dodgy" nature of the meetings. "Well," she said finally, "It's not as if _I'm_ invited."

Harry chuckled. "I'll take you, if you want." At Hermione's quizzical look, he clarified, "I mentioned you to Slughorn and you're definitely exceptional."

Hermione went a little red, but maintained her facial composure. "I wouldn't want to be recognized via nepotism, Harry, but thank you."

Ginny, feeling a little left out, said, "Would you take me, Harry?"

Harry faltered. "Erm, Gin, well..." How to phrase it? "Your talents are...under the surface."

Ginny raised a dangerous eyebrow, "Potter? What does that mean?"

"Your gifts aren't valued by the wider public as much as mine or Hermione's," Harry said, frantically trying to pull his foot out of his mouth, "Not that they don't exist, I think you're wonderful, but other people, you know, er, they look at silly numbers and stuff."

Ginny blinked, then grinned. "You think I'm wonderful?"

Harry's mouth opened and closed, with no sound coming out. "Yes," he said finally.

Ginny went back to her magazine with a wide, contented smile on her face.

"Right, then," Harry said, looking over to Hermione, "I'll be off." He turned back at the door of the compartment. "Are you sure you don't want to come, Hermione?"

"I will be invited on my _own_ merits, Harry," said the best witch in their year, with a tone of finality, "And if you say anything else, _you_ won't be able to attend this lunch either."

Harry blanched. "As you say, Hermione." He got up and saw that he was still wearing his muggle clothes. That probably wouldn't matter to most people at Hogwarts, but still… Harry opened his trunk and pulled out the outer cloak generally used to fend off the formidable Scottish winters and fastened it around himself. Though a bit too warm to be comfortable, the cloak was quite effective in hiding his clothes from the world.

"Are you planning on wearing that?" Hermione asked, her voice cool.

Harry nodded. "Wearing muggle clothes holds no benefit, and could very easily hold a detriment, depending on who's there." He glanced about the compartment. "And I couldn't very well change in here, could I?"

Ginny went a bit pink and submerged herself in her magazine.

"Come here," said Hermione, exasperatedly pulling out her wand, "I'll make it comfortable."

Hesitantly, Harry approached. Hermione put her wand inside the cloak and muttered an incantation under her breath. Harry suddenly felt a cool breeze spring up, cooling him and making the cloak feel downright pleasant.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said.

She waved him off in response.

Harry left the compartment and made his way up the train. Harry had always enjoyed rather a lot of attention from the rest of the school, for good or ill, and had always dealt with it by simply ignoring it. The more Harry thought about it, though, the more he realized that ignoring such a potentially useful aspect of his life was quite foolish. Harry had been convinced that _good_ people simply didn't use fame to achieve selfish ends, that help should be offered and received based on the goodness of the action rather than shallow reasons like fame or even tangible reward. Harry wasn't _entirely_ sure where he'd gotten this idea, a certain old wizard was the most likely source, but the more he thought about it, the more Harry was sure that he'd been _incredibly_ naive.

What Harry had failed to realize was that being famous was not like most other forms of being special in society. If you were exceptional in some way, attractive or intelligent or powerful or what have you, the majority of people around still saw you as _human_. You still retained the same emotions and motivations and strengths and flaws as they did. Your thoughts and actions could easily be rationalized by those around you because, at the base level, you were still the same as they were. People had a mental infrastructure for thinking about intelligence, and someone being better than them. They could combine these mental infrastructures and still see the more intelligent person as human.

When you became famous, however, you suddenly became _other_.

What Harry had failed to realize was that famous people didn't have the same emotions or values as normal people. Famous people had motivations and feelings that were _grander_ than what most people could imagine. They were simply beyond the world experienced by the mundane. Thus, whenever Harry had ignored someone because they were debasing themselves before the Boy-Who-Lived, he was reinforcing the idea that famous people were _above_ others. It didn't matter _why_ Harry was acting that way, what mattered was that everyone perceived him as being smugly superior to Colin Creevey, or whoever.

Harry decided that had to change.

And so, as he walked towards compartment C, Harry made a distinct effort to smile and wave back to _everyone_ who looked at him. Most people didn't react except to grin, knowing that _they_ were important enough for Harry Potter to smile and wave at them. This, coupled with Harry's recent exoneration by the Daily Prophet, ensured that they would all be more than fair to Harry the next time they heard rumors about him. Some nudged the people next to them, eager for their friends to see Harry Potter waving at them. Harry made sure to slow down so that everyone who looked would see him happy to see them. It slowed his journey considerably, but Harry figured it was quite the worthwhile investment.

Twice, girls came out to talk to Harry. One was Rinoa Waterson, only brave enough because of the urging of a friend of hers.

"Having a nice ride?" Harry asked, after a moment of Rinoa not speaking.

"Er, more or less," she said, fidgeting, "My friends are making fun of me for this."

"Sorry about that," Harry said with a smirk, "But surely there are worse reasons to be made fun of."

Rinoa looked up at Harry in horror. "Oh Merlin, I didn't mean…" She smacked her forehead rather hard. "Gods, _why_ don't I _think_."

"What?" Harry asked.

"You were the target of such awful things last year," Rinoa explained, "For telling the _truth_." She shook her head. "And here _I_ am complaining because you're talking to me. Sorry."

Harry waved her off. "No reason to apologize. The truth came out in the end." A little regret seeped into his voice. "I really just wish the Ministry had realized the truth earlier."

"You really mean that, don't you? You're not even _mad_ that they slandered you for months and months?" Rinoa sounded incredulous.

"I, erm, wouldn't go _that_ far," Harry said, "But I've found that it's a lot easier to ignore slights against you than it is to ignore them against people you revere."

"What do you mean?" Rinoa asked, frowning.

"Like, it's easier to forgive someone for something they did to you than it is to forgive an offense against someone you care about." Harry scratched his chin. "It's ironic, really, since humans are so often thought of as selfish beings."

"And you're _smart_ too?" Rinoa's mouth was agape. "Blimey, you're more of a catch than even my _mother_ thought." As she realized what she said, Rinoa's face went crimson. "No no no no no, like I mean that, ugh, you know-"

Before she could combust, Harry stepped in. "Rinoa." He put a hand on her shoulder. "It's ok."

The girl looked up into his eyes, for the first time Harry thought, saw his wry smile, then deflated with long, loud sigh.

"I'll just go back inside now." She turned back to the door, face still completely red.

"See you around, Rinoa!" Harry called cheerfully as the door opened.

As he walked away, Harry could just make out " _You're on first name terms with him?!_ " as the compartment door closed. Harry didn't even need to try and grin at the next few compartments.

The other girl who approached him was a fourth year Gryffindor, as evidenced by a hastily donned badge showing a roaring lion, and Harry was quite positive that she needed no encouragement to came and talk to him. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, and her eyes were intense.

"Harry Potter?" she asked, with the confidence both of one who knew the answer and one who was well-used to being well-received.

Harry nodded, though his mind was less enthusiastic for this conversation. This girl was _formidable_.

"I'm Romilda Vane," she stated imperiously, as though that was supposed to mean something. Harry had barely a moment to consider the idea that, perhaps, that confidence _was_ all it took for something like a name to mean something before she extended her hand.

Harry had the sudden feeling that he was being tested. "Miss Vane," he said, desperately trying to remember that _he_ had the power, the influence, in this conversation. Harry reached a hand out and took hers, his eyes locked on her face, to see if he was doing the right thing.

Romilda Vane's eyes softened a bit, which Harry took to be confirmation. Knowing little about Wizarding protocol in these sorts of situations, if _only_ Malfoy wasn't _Malfoy_ , Harry followed what muggle custom dictated. He lifted her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles. The little gasp that followed told Harry that he'd done _some_ thing, though whether or not that something was _good_ remained to be seen.

"A pleasure, Miss Vane," said Harry, straightening and checking her expression.

"A-a pleasure, Mister Potter," Romilda Vane stammered out, her hand beginning to shake in Harry's, "Might I know what that was for?"

"Merely a custom of my upbringing," said Harry, trying his best to keep up the elevated diction this conversation apparently demanded, "My apologies if I have given offense."

"No, none at all," Romilda said, her other hand rising to her chest, "Your gesture is worthy of your name." She pulled her hand out of his and tried to regain her imperious glare. "Is it common for muggle men to interact with muggle women this way?"

Harry gave an apologetic smile. "Not as such, no. It is an archaic form of greeting a lady."

"A Lady, you say?" Romilda considered that. "Then, my _Lord_ , allow me to greet you in our way."

Romilda curtseyed, her eyes low and her head dipped, then straightened. "I hope I may be of service to my Lord in _any_ thing he may require." Despite her tone, Romilda's eyes were anything but demure.

Harry took a moment to think about that, weighing her potential usefulness in the Right Side. She certainly seemed to know about Customs and such, which could be invaluable to Harry in his dealings with the political forces in Magical Britain, something he suddenly realized he'd have to contend with. Then again, Harry knew that he knew nothing about such things and that curtsy could easily have been put on. Regardless, however, Harry didn't know if her joining his side was in her own best self-interest, and thus asking her to join was against his principles.

Besides, what was it that Hermione had said? "Allies for their own sake are not always a good thing"?

"I release you from that," Harry said gently, again suddenly aware that those dark eyes were testing him, "For the dual reasons that I would not ask anything from someone I had not assisted in the first place, and that," he smiled wryly, "I, to the best of my knowledge, am not a Lord."

Romilda's eyes narrowed as she parsed whether Harry was insulting her or not. "Very well, Mister Potter," her eyes narrowed playfully and she smirked at him, "I shall find something for you to do for me."

Harry laughed, and was about to ask that it not be too difficult, before thinking for a second. She may _not_ be simply joking and, by implication, agreeing to do something for her in the future was probably _not_ the best thing to do. "You would have done well in Slytherin, Miss Vane," Harry said, trying to simultaneously compliment her obvious cunning, if indeed there was cunning to compliment, and to alert her that he knew what she was up to, if indeed she was up to anything.

Romilda raised an eyebrow, as if to take offense, then slowly lowered it. "As would you, Mister Potter," she said, her voice lower than before, "Though I suppose you knew that."

"It's a recent development," Harry said, "Though not an unpleasant one." He bowed. "I must be going now, Miss Vane, but I expect we shall see each other again."

"Till the next time," Romilda said, curtseying as before. She straightened and bestowed another imperious look at Harry. "My Lord." With that, she stalked back into her compartment.

Harry blinked, then sighed as the tension left his body. _That_ had been difficult. Harry wasn't sure if he'd _won_ per se, but he was pretty sure that he'd done better than expected. As a result of Snape's correspondence, Harry began mentally reviewing the conversation to see where he'd scored points and whether or not those could be transferable to future conversations.

Likely, Harry had missed how he was _supposed_ to react to her hand, but had more than redeemed himself with what he'd done. That she wasn't disgusted with his muggle upbringing likely meant that she wasn't a Blood Purist, her being a Gryffindor also spoke to that, though Harry still made a mental note to find out if he'd committed some sort of a taboo with the kiss. It would certainly be...unfortunate if Harry found that he'd unintentionally become betrothed or something. As for how Ginny would react, that didn't bear thinking about.

The next part of note was likely when Harry had all but called her a Slytherin. Most Gryffindors would have been deeply rankled by that, but she hadn't been, even to the point of returning the compliment. That either meant that she didn't succumb easily to group prejudice, or that she _had_ been insulted and had returned it to Harry as such. Given her tone, however, Harry discounted that last as unlikely.

So, Romilda Vane was likely a Pureblood, probably some level of noble, _definitely_ a force to be reckoned with, and perhaps a potential ally. _If_ Harry could play it correctly, and _if_ her joining him was best for her, and, the biggest if of all, _if_ _Harry had actually passed any or all the tests in that conversation._

Harry breathed out a sigh. He was supremely glad that his Slytherin side hadn't surface any earlier.

* * *

Harry arrived at Compartment C rather on the late side and worried that he was being rude to the professor who so kindly invited him to lunch. However, when Harry walked up, he saw Blaise Zabini casually leaning against the compartment door. The tall, slim Slytherin insctinctively straightened when he saw Harry, a common move when any two Gryffindor/Slytherin met the other, and his face quickly arranged itself into a superior smirk.

"Potter," he said, his lip curling _almost_ as naturally as Malfoy's.

Harry felt a flash of indignation, but Snape's voice rang out through his mind, " _Think before you act in anger, foolish boy_!" and Harry took a breath. "Zabini," Harry said neutrally, "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you," Zabini said, "And I expect for no better reason."

Harry tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Zabini laughed bitterly. "So there _is_ someone left who doesn't know my mother." His lip curled again. "I forget that not _every_ one is in Slytherin."

Harry ignored the stab of irritation. "I'm sure Slughorn would have some reason to invite you." Inspiration struck like a flash of lightning. "It's not like he invites _everyone_."

Zabini frowned. "How do _you_ know about the Slug Club?"

"He mentioned it over the summer," Harry said casually, "When I convinced him to teach this year."

Zabini's eyes widened, though he gave no other indication of his shock. "I take it back, Potter, perhaps you actually have a reason to be here." The condescension quickly returned. "After you, _Chosen One_."

Harry began to move forward, accepting the courtesy, but then paused. Zabini had been waiting outside for _some_ reason. Leaning against a wall of the train was vastly less comfortable than whatever seating Slughorn had inside, and it wasn't likely that Zabini would sacrifice that sort of comfort for _nothing_. Harry paused, willing his brain to figure out what game Zabini was playing. Zabini, or any Slytherin for that matter, would never offer something that would make Harry seem above them. Therefor, it would seem that this would give some advantage to Zabini. Just because Harry couldn't figure out what that _was_ didn't mean it didn't exist.

Harry looked back at Zabini and with, what he hoped was a knowing tone, said, "You've been standing out here longer, Zabini, surely you'll want to go in first."

A quick bit of shock passed over Zabini's face, for the second time Harry counted, but he smoothly replied, "A bit of standing is nothing." Again with the lip curl and the sneer. "You're more _important_ , remember?" He gestured with a hand.

Harry figured he'd passed some sort of test by not accepting, so he kept going. "Er, I wouldn't want to be embarrassed by my lack of _manners_ -" he took a step back, "Please, show me how to properly, er, enter a door," Harry finished lamely.

Zabini blinked at Harry's weak rejoinder, but took it in stride. "If the great _Chosen One_ doesn't know how to walk into a train compartment, what hope do any of us have?" He bowed slightly, which probably meant something, "Please, Boy-Who-Lived, show me how you enter a door."

That was the second bit of false modesty, maybe _that_ was how you won this game? "Ah yes, famous for something I don't remember and something I haven't done yet," Harry said, shaking his head slightly, "Whereas you-" so _this_ is why Slytherins do all that research, "You actually _have_ that...mother of yours..." Harry was _not_ good at this game.

Zabini's lips curled into the first genuine smile of the conversation. "Having a mother like mine is less than the nothing you've claimed of your great and noble actions," And, with the tone of a chessmaster calling checkmate, "I _insist_ , Potter. After you."

Harry froze. He lost. He knew that. He lost _utterly_ , regardless of having to play without knowing the rules. Harry had lost before, sure, but he'd always known that the game was fair. He'd had advance knowledge about what he'd been trying to do, what his opponent was trying to do. There had been a common _win condition_ as Hermione would call it.

This was different, though. Harry had bumbled into accepting a challenge that he had no idea how to face. He'd _maybe_ done an acceptable job guessing the rules on the fly, but the result was that he'd fought a battle with _no clear win condition_ and lost. The old Harry would have fumed and raged and- no. The old Harry would never have even played. Harry would never have even guessed that there _was_ a game. Harry was improving. He'd _found_ the game, even if he couldn't _win_ it yet.

This was a victory.

Now, though, Harry had to decide what to do about Zabini in the moment. Harry could accept his loss with grace and walk in, but some part of him rejected that heavily. For all that the game was only words, Harry could still simply _refuse_ to walk into the compartment. He'd probably fall in Zabini's estimation, but at least he wouldn't have lost. But again, Harry cursed his lack of knowledge, maybe that's what would make him lose _more._ Like, maybe part of the game is to acknowleddge your loss and take it with grace. If there was a better metaphor for politics, at least as Harry had heard others speak of it, he didn't know what it was.

Harry took a deep breath, swallowed his pride and reached for the door.

Just then, a tall, muscular, blond Gryffindor boy, already in his robes, strode up. "Cheers, lads," he said in a perfectly cultured posh accent, "Here for lunch?"

Harry nodded. Zabini ignored the boy.

"Cormac McLaggen," drawled the boy, extending a large hand to Harry, "Charmed."

"Harry-"

"Now, what are we all doing here in the hallway?" asked the boy, utterly ignoring Harry.

Struck by an idea, Harry caught Zabini's eye, then gestured to the door. "After you, Mister McLaggen."

"Right then," the boy said, opening the door and walking in.

A moment after the door closed, Harry smirked at Zabini. "Does that make up for my loss?"

Zabini, genuinely smiling again, "In a way, Potter." He put a hand on his chin, considering Harry. After a moment, he stepped forward. "You did well for your first time, Potter, and seeing McLaggen get his was quite satisfying." He extended a hand to Harry. "Slytherin will hear of it."

Harry paused for a second, his instincts screaming that choosing Slytherin over Gryffindor was the worst of all possible choices. Well, Harry _had_ already made the choice, and it didn't make sense not to reap the rewards.

He took Zabini's hand and shook it lightly. He had to say _something_ to pique Zabini's interest, the boy's knowledge could be invaluable to the Right Side, even if he never joined. "I've-" Harry checked his wording, "I've never shaken a Slytherin's hand before." Harry also sent what he hoped was a significant look to the other boy.

Zabini blinked and his hand tightened for a second. "I'll...remember that, Potter." He let go and calmly opened the compartment door. "Welcome to the game, Potter," he said in not quite a whisper before turning and walking into the room.

* * *

A few hours later, Harry sat around a table laden with food, utterly full and similarly tired of listening to Cormac McLaggen. If _this_ was how the Slytherins saw Gryffindors, Harry suddenly understood where they were coming from. McLaggen talked _end_ lessly about himself and all of the "bloody great adventures" he'd had with his uncle and his father. The stories weren't even _interesting_ , they were just McLaggen killing some animal or other. No other plot, no intrigue, no puzzle to solve, no existential threat to Wizarding kind. Just killing an animal that you had no chance of losing to.

Finally, dessert was passed around, and McLaggen began to eat, rather than talk. Harry had shared more than one exasperated glance with Zabini at the ordeal, but now Zabini slightly raised an eyebrow, obviously some sort signal.

"McLaggen," he opened, condescension dripping in his voice, Harry had the sudden realization that there had been _none_ of that at the end of their conversation, "As _fascinating_ as hunting Nogtails is, I find I'd rather hear about a _real_ adventure." Ignoring McLaggen's muffled exclamation, Zabini turned to Harry. "Is it true, Potter, that you slew a Basilisk?"

There was a sudden, vast, silence. Even chewing stopped.

Harry was suddenly the center of attention.

Harry froze for a second, _sharply_ reminded of the Hog's Head tavern the previous year. Then, he saw Zabini in his periphery eyeing him the same way he had in the hallway. Ah, a test then. And what had been the moral of the last test? Harry's brain wracked itself to two whole hours ago... _False Modesty._

Despite Harry's nerved, he had a plan now. Calmly pulling a plate of dessert over to himself, Harry slowly took a bite, as if to think. When his mouth was clear, he said, "Oh, yeah. Slew it with the Sword of Gryffindor." He shrugged. "Not the best story, honestly."

Zabini raised an eyebrow, as if to accept Harry's challenge. "Oh really? Apologies, Harry." A smirk stretched across his face. "Perhaps clearing up that rumor about simultaneously fending off a hundred Dementors would be more interesting…?"

Swept up in his role, Harry shook his head, "It's the same, honestly, as fending off one. Corporeal Patronus, seen one, seen them all."

Mouths gaped all around the table, dessert forgotten.

Zabini chuckled dryly. "Then I suppose escaping from the Dark Lord himself was similarly boring?"

Harry pretended to think about it, "If you care about rare, borderline mythical magical phenomena, I suppose you might be able to sit through the story."

"Now, see here-" tried McLaggen.

"Speaking of," Zabini cut in, his face breaking into a real smile, "Didn't you discover both the secret to the Mirror of Erised _and_ retrieve the Philosopher's Stone _in your first year_?" His emphasis was not lost on anyone present. Most of McLaggen's stories took place after age fifteen, the legal age Wizarding children could begin "learning to govern their House."

Harry felt the tension grow, and he was almost loathe to break it. "Yeah." Then, after a moment, "Hermione and Ron did most of the work on that one, though."

There was a profound silence.

"Well, Harry my boy," said Slughorn, "I rather expect our future dinner parties shall not lack for entertaining story-telling."


	5. Plans

**An: Hey all, here's another chapter! Thanks for sticking with me despite all of the inconsistent updates! I'm going to _try_ for a monthly update schedule, but there may be a big personal change in store for me this summer. Enjoy! Message/review if you have comments. Bye for now!**

* * *

Harry told a stubbornly uninterested Hermione about his lunch with Slughorn while Ginny read her magazine and occasionally giggled, though Harry wasn't sure if she was giggling at him or _Witch Weekly._ Harry neglected to mention Zabini, mostly because he wasn't sure his plan would actually amount to anything, but also he wasn't sure how the girls would react. On the one hand, Harry had fairly solid reasoning to back up his initial overtures to Zabini, but the Gryffindor bias was strong in Ginny, if not as strong in Hermione. Harry planned to win Zabini over to his side before broaching the subject with Hermione and Ginny. If the Slytherin boy wasn't interested, then no harm done.

"Oh, Ginny, do you know Romilda Vane?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering the girl with intense, testing eyes.

Ginny blinked. "Romilda? Sure, she's a year below me, right?" Ginny thought for a second. "She sort of keeps to herself. Like, she has a couple friends, but I mostly see her reading."

 _That_ didn't seem to fit. "What does she read?" Harry asked, after a moment of puzzling.

Ginny frowned. "School books?" She shrugged. "Why?"

"She came out of her compartment and talked to me," Harry said with a shake of his head, "She was really…intense."

Hermione lowered her book. "Oh?"

Harry shrugged. "Like I felt like she was testing my answers the whole conversation." He chuckled and scratched the back of his head. "She was so, what's the word, regal? Imperious? Self-important?"

"That doesn't sound like her," muttered Ginny, "From what I've heard, she's more like Hermione than Pansy."

"I mean, she wasn't _that_ bad," Harry said, "She just had a certain… _presence_ is all."

"Ginny, could you look into that?" Hermione asked primly, "Her intent could be, shall we say, less than gentile."

Ginny saluted. "Of course! Have to protect Harry from all of his rabid fan-girls!"

"But!" Harry sputtered, "I thought she may join the Right Side! Don't go scaring her off."

"Please, Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head, "We don't even know her. We have no idea if she'd be an asset or even if she's interested in joining."

"I don't care if she's an asset," Harry said, " _I'm_ not thinking that way."

"Ah," said Hermione, after an embarrassed pause, "Right. Sorry, Harry."

"People join because the side is correct, not because they're useful or I cunningly win them over." Harry explained again, "That's the _whole_ _point._ "

Hermione nodded. "Of course you're right, sorry."

Harry took a breath. "But sure, my fame may confuse her. It's a good idea for Ginny to get to know her." He smiled at Hermione. "Good idea."

Hermione smiled back. "Thanks."

"On it!" chimed in Ginny, with a big thumbs up, "You can count on me!"

* * *

The Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade Station and Harry left the train with Hermione and Ginny in tow. They waded into the mass of students moving about the platform, now with not a few students waving to Harry as he passed. Harry waved to the ones he could, though he was sure he missed a few. Soon enough, Harry heard the huge booming voice, "Firs' years, firs' years this way!" and glanced up at the incredibly large groundskeeper as he herded all of the new students towards the boats for their ride across the lake.

Hermione looked at the group critically, as though she could figure out which ones would be in her charge that year, and sighed. "You know, the more I think about it, the more I'm sure that a bunch of eleven year olds rowing across a lake is the _height_ of dangerous."

"Don't you remember our trip?" Harry asked, a smirk stretching his lips, "Neville fell out and the giant squid put him back in."

Hermione's mouth snapped shut. "That's…not entirely reassuring."

As the three got into the queue for the thestral-drawn carriages, Harry thought about Hagrid. The man was Harry's first friend in the Wizarding World and had, perhaps, the biggest heart Harry had even seen. His capability in battle was undoubtedly superb, thanks to his giant blood, and what he lacked in magical knowledge, he more than made up for in sheer size. While not _smart_ , per se, Hagrid definitely had extensive knowledge of magical creatures and how to deal with them; knowledge that would be invaluable in dealing with either Dumbledore or Voldemort. Hagrid would undoubtedly be a fantastic ally.

But, with a sinking feeling, Harry suddenly knew that Hagrid would be one of his greatest foes.

The first thing that came to mind, even before all of Hagrid's various traits, was his fanatical and fervent loyalty to Albus Dumbledore. And why shouldn't Hagrid be loyal? Dumbledore saved him from Azkaban as a youth, had cleared the charges against him in Harry's second year, and had even given him a job when literally no one else would have. Albus Dumbledore was Hagrid's past, present, and future.

It didn't matter that Dumbledore likely knew from the beginning that Hagrid hadn't committed the Chamber of Secrets murders and had seen a perfect opportunity to gain a massively powerful addition to his army. It didn't matter that Dumbledore had neglected to teach Hagrid the sort of things that would make the half-giant powerful in his own right, thereby shackling him to Dumbledore's coattails. It didn't even matter that Dumbledore had practically killed Hagrid the year before in sending him to the mountain giants, a group of beings that would _never_ join Dumbledore's side regardless of how convincing Hagrid was.

It only mattered that Hagrid perceived Dumbledore as his savior.

Harry felt a rush of sadness and stopped walking. _Dumbledore_. Harry felt a twisting, grinding nausea seep into his stomach at the thought of Dumbledore reaching his hands into all of these lives and twisting them to his whims. He was to blame for all of this. If Dumbledore had just fought Voldemort on the up and up the first time, likely the Dark Lord wouldn't have achieved the power he had now. If Dumbledore had just-

Harry felt a soft pressure and glanced over to Hermione looking concerned, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently. "Hey, you ok?"

"Sort of. I just realized-" he trailed off, noticing the milling crowd, "I'll tell you later, under a _Muffliato_."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "Ok."

Ginny, a few steps ahead, turned back, "Hey! I see Romilda over by the carriage. I'll go introduce myself!"

Harry nodded and waved, teeth clenched against the twisting sadness in his gut. "Good luck!"

Ginny flashed a thumbs up and grinned brightly.

Hermione chuckled. "She's enthusiastic, at least."

Harry grinned sadly. "That she is."

"You inspire that, you know," Hermione said, her voice pensive, "You inspire people to do their best."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"That's why I joined your side, I think," she said quietly, "I mean, sure, there was all that speculation you gave," she shook her head, "But I think I made the decision was based on what I know of you, Harry."

Harry tilted his head. "I thought I convinced you with logic and proper deduction."

Hermione shook her head and chuckled. "You had no proof. Though," she tilted her head, "I suppose without your speculation I wouldn't have thought of splitting from Dumbledore."

" _Shhh_ ," Harry hissed, glancing around worriedly, "Don't go just _saying_ that!"

"Sorry," Hermione said tritely, "But anyway, I don't think I would have thought of all of that on my own." The queue moved forward a bit. "You really inspired me with that 'right side' idea. It's sort of idealistic, but why _shouldn't_ we be a little unrealistic, you know?"

"You think I'm being unrealistic?" Harry asked, a little stung.

"Er," Hermione paused, "Yes. But I don't think that's a bad thing."

Harry tilted his head.

"You survived the Killing Curse!" Hermione exclaimed, "If _any_ one can be unrealistic it's you!"

"I-" Harry paused to think about how to phrase what he meant. The queue moved forward. "I don't want people to follow just because it's me, or my fame or whatever," Harry said slowly, "They should follow because the idea is correct, because the side is in their best interest, because…because…even if it wasn't me, they would have followed it anyway!"

"That's…noble, Harry," Hermione said, after a moment, "And, ironically, it just makes me want to follow _you_ more, regardless of what side that ends up being."

Harry felt a bit of warmth on his cheeks, but chose not to reply. He'd made his point, she understood what he wanted, even if his words had the opposite of their intended effect. Harry stepped forward with the queue and was surprised to find that they were in the front of the line. A thestral bared its fangs at Harry in greeting and Harry stepped forward to pet the monstrosity.

"Hey there," he cooed to the thestral, "You doing all right?"

The leathery skin was surprisingly smooth under his hand and its skeletal head rested itself on his shoulder. It was quite heavy and Harry felt one of the fangs prodding him uncomfortably. He shifted a bit and the thestral nuzzled the side of his head. Harry chuckled and scratched its bony flank.

"H-Harry?" asked a voice from the crowd, "What are you doing?"

Harry turned to face the queue, reminding himself that he was trying to be more approachable. "It's a thestral," he explained, his smile not entirely forced, "They're really friendly."

"They're evil," replied the boy who had spoken, "They're Death's horses!"

Harry shook his head. "Not even close. Come see for yourself!"

The boy froze. Harry glanced down and saw from his robes that he was a Hufflepuff. "They're totally safe," Harry continued, with a reassuring smile, "And they're really soft."

The queue had fallen nearly silent, just the occasional murmur here or there. The boy seemed to regret speaking out. Slowly, hesitantly, he stepped forward.

"What's your name?" Harry asked, trying to add reassurance to his voice.

"B-Benjamin." His teeth were audibly clacking.

"Benjamin," Harry nodded, moving forward to wrap an arm around the boy's shoulder, "Can you see them?" Harry asked in a reassuring whisper.

Benjamin nodded.

"Right," said Harry, leading him up to the thestral, "Put your hand on its flank, there."

Benjamin raised a tentative hand and set it gently on the thestral's bony back. The winged horse gurgled a little and looked back at this new hand. Benjamin grimaced at the face and the fangs, but didn't recoil. He began to pet the thestral and then scratched it a bit. The thestral shivered at the contact then bared its fangs in approval.

"Uh-" Benjamin said, pausing.

"No, no that's a good thing," Harry said hurriedly, "Keep at it."

The queue had begun to build up and people were complaining about what was holding it all up, and others were explaining that Harry Potter was up to something there at the front. Slowly, Benjamin became more and more comfortable with the thestral, a small, treacherous grin starting to spread on his face.  
"It feels weird," Benjamin said, his grin now wide.

"You're doing great," said Harry.

Soon, Benjamin went back to his friends and Harry followed Hermione onto the carriage. No one else joined them, even though there were a couple of seats open. The carriage trundled off down the lane and Harry stared out the window. The Forbidden Forest passed on their left and Harry grinned wistfully before remembering Hagrid and feeling that grip of twisting nausea again.

"So, what was it you wanted to tell me?" asked Hermione, seeing Harry's face contort.

"Hagrid's going to be an enemy." Harry didn't even try to sugar-coat his voice. "He'll be bitterly against us."

Hermione drew in a sharp breath. "You-you don't know that. He may-"

Harry caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. "No. He's Dumbledore's. Forever." He sighed. "And he'll probably hate me more than most, given that I'm 'betraying my parents' legacy' or whatever."

"He-he could understand," Hermione said halfheartedly, "If you ex-explained-"

Harry felt irritation blaze and couldn't stop himself from spitting, "You mean like _Ron_ did?"

Hermione shrank back from Harry's tone.

Harry took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. I shouldn't have snapped." A sneer slowly surfaced. "It's just _Dumbledore_."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yeah."

After another moment, Harry said, "I need to talk to Snape. I need to plan out my year."

"Will he join you?" Hermione asked.

Harry balked at that, then said, "Maybe. He hates both sides." Harry grimaced. "He's very…value focused? He thinks like Dumbledore and Voldemort."

"That's a benefit," Hermione said slowly, "That's something we need."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"You're not used to thinking like Dumbledore, let alone Voldemort," Hermione explained, "So it makes perfect sense to recruit someone who can think like both."

"Huh. I can see that." After a moment, Harry continued, "We would just have to be sure that our actions ultimately follow our principles, even if we _use_ his mindset."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed, "So I'll just have to be sure to understand our principles and keep us on the right path."

"That's a big thing to volunteer," teased Harry, "You sure you're up to it?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Speaking of," Harry said, after a moment, "What do _you_ think our measure of success is?"

Hermione tilted her head. "You're the leader. It's your opinion that counts."

"You're my premier counselor," Harry replied dryly, " _Surely_ your advice is indispensable."

Hermione smirked. "Premier? You flatter me, Harry."

"Unless you want _Ginny_ to be that," Harry said wryly.

" _Harry Potter_!" Hermione gasped in mock outrage, "I'm _shocked_ that you would malign Ginny like that." She grinned. "That would probably be bad, though."

"So," said Harry, sobering up, "What do you think?"

"Either you have big dreams or small ones," said Hermione, "And each has pros and cons. Decide which you have and I'll give my advice."

Harry nodded. "I'll get back to you on that."

The carriage kept rolling down the long path to Hogwarts, the rattling of the wheels and occasional road bump serving to distract Harry from thinking about what Hermione had said. Instead, he just stared out of the window at the night, trying to see little landmarks and details that were familiar. It was a stark difference from being locked into Greysight. Even the blacks and dark blues seemed warm and welcoming, as though the night were beckoning Harry into its bosom, to share its secrets. When Harry caught a glance of some distinct tree or shrub, it was just another sign that this night, though dark, was friendly and homey. It was where he belonged. After a moment, Harry shook himself out of this reverie. It was unnerving how much Greysight had colored his perception, given how cold and _distant_ the Burrow had seemed, versus how warm and inviting the _Forbidden Forest_ was.

They reached the castle before too long and headed into the Great Hall. Harry couldn't help a grin sliding onto his face as he walked towards the Gryffindor table. He couldn't help but feel that everything was simpler now, that he would just be able to go to class and focus on things students his age should. Attend class, get into just a little bit of trouble, maybe even find a nice girl… That sort of year was achingly attractive. After all, what was there to gain from starting now? Surely Harry could just start after next year, after graduation, when he'd have a better knowledge of magic and more spells under his belt. Then, he could…

Harry frowned. He looked up at the Head Table and quickly found Dumbledore. The old man was seemingly chatting animatedly with Professor McGonagall, but Harry saw Dumbledore's off-hand resting on his wand. He didn't seem to be actively casting anything, though walking into the Great Hall had definitely started Harry thinking domestic, safe thoughts; thoughts that probably hadn't come from Harry himself.

Harry shrugged. He'd noticed and fought off the effect, so it didn't matter as much. Maybe Hermione would know of some general charm or something to suppress the students' more dangerous thoughts. To be fair, however, Harry couldn't exactly _fault_ the Headmaster setting that sort of thing up in a school full of children with potentially devastating magical devices given to each of them. And it _was_ possible that there was no magic involved at all.

Harry sat down across from Hermione, noticing the lack of Ron by his side. Harry glanced up and down for the red haired boy, caught his eye, but quickly turned back away from look Ron gave him. Harry took another glance up to the Head Table and found all of the familiar faces. Hagrid waved enthusiastically and all Harry could manage was a half-hearted wave in return. Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly in Harry's direction when her gaze found him in its sweeping of the Hall. When Harry found Snape, the man gave Harry a significant look followed by a sneer and a mocking nod. Harry took that to mean that they must keep up appearances.

Soon enough, Dumbledore stood, walked to his gilt-eagle podium, and clapped his hands. There were some hushed whispers as the students as a whole noticed the old wizard's withered hand. Dumbledore smiled benignly and shifted his sleeve to cover up the blackened skin. "Worry not, little ones, it is unimportant."

Harry frowned and focused in on Dumbledore's voice, looking for anything that would unravel the old man's deception. If Harry could point out any little inconsistency with how Dumbledore spoke, it would add credibility to his assertions. Granted, Dumbledore had likely developed this particular skill over _years_ so Harry finding a break was unlikely, but it couldn't hurt to try.

"Another year, another set of rules to be broken and classes to pass!" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Welcome my charges, my lovely students, to Hogwarts!"

There was an applause, though Harry declined to participate, and Dumbledore made a quieting motion.

"There are some announcements that I will give now, as I must unfortunately abscond mid-meal this night," Dumbledore said, with a sad inclining of his head, "There is no reason to worry about my departure, merely a Wizengamot meeting that I could not avoid."

Harry frowned. _That_ didn't sit well. When had Dumbledore _ever_ left during the first meal?

"First is a new staff acquisition!" Dumbledore turned and waved a hand to where Slughorn was sitting in his chair.

Harry blinked. He'd somehow missed the man in his scanning of the Head Table.

"This is Horace Slughorn," Dumbledore said, with a wide smile, "And he will be taking over the position of Potions Master!"

A few students voiced confusion, but were silenced by their peers. Hermione turned a betrayed look at Harry. Harry shrugged. He couldn't remember if he'd ever heard that Slughorn would be the Defense teacher, but he'd definitely implied as much when he told Hermione and Ginny about meeting the man.

"And, as a result," Dumbledore said after quiet was restored, "Our very own Severus Snape will be taking over the vacant Defense Against the Dark Arts position!"

Harry smirked. Immediately, the Hall erupted with conversations of students discussing this new development. Ron swore loudly down the table and was shushed by Lavender Brown. Hermione looked closely at Harry, scanning for his reaction. Harry raised an eyebrow at her and shrugged, then began yelling his disapproval for all and sundry to hear.

Dumbledore looked around the room, sighed, then pulled out his wand. The staff all immediately covered their ears, and Harry saw Dumbledore whisper something. Suddenly, a deafening blast sounded from the tip of Dumbledore's wand, ushering in a vast silence in the Great Hall.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, grinning like a child with a toy, "That's better." He stowed his wand before continuing. "Argus Filch wishes you all to know that a blanket ban has been placed on any merchandise from the joke shop Weasely Wizard Wheezes, and that the full list of banned items can be found on the door to his office. I believe it's grown to three full feet of parchment, is that correct?"

Argus Filch nodded proudly.

"Now," said Dumbledore, the mirth on his face draining away, "I must turn to serious, even dour, topics."

Harry sat up a little straighter.

"As you are all aware by now," Dumbledore said, moving away from his podium and stepping onto the floor of the Great Hall, "The man calling himself Lord Voldemort is back in full force. He is recruiting. He is attacking. He is gaining."

There was a sort of horrified silence as Dumbledore paused.

"He will _not_ win." Dumbledore's voice was quiet, but supremely confident.

Even Harry felt a chill go down his spine. It was a good reminder that Dumbledore wasn't incompetent, that the old man hadn't gotten to where he was by luck.

"I will fight him with everything I am," said Dumbledore, walking amongst the students, "But I have far more weaknesses than he does." He stopped in the dead center of the Hall. "Each one of you, for example."

A confused murmur arose in the Hall.

"If any of you were captured, Voldemort could use you to render me helpless." Dumbledore gestured around the room. "This is a very real possibility."

Another pause allowed the thought of being used as a ransom by Voldemort to sink in to the rapt audience.

"Now, shall I simply lock you in your Common Rooms and have professors visit you all there?" Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head. "I will not. Your youth is to be _lived_ even despite this present danger. If Voldemort causes me to restrict your freedom in this way, he has truly won."

Dumbledore began to make his way back towards the podium. "And so, now that you are all aware of the situation, I will explain my compromise. I have strengthened the wards around this school. I have limited Hogsmeade trips. I have hired Aurors to patrol on weekends." He arrived at the podium. "And…" He turned to face the students, a look of fierce determination pulling his brows together. "I will _stop_ Voldemort."

After a moment, the Hall burst into applause, and Harry was hard-pressed to keep from joining. The man gave a great speech, that much was obvious, and he was in his element here in this room. The applause picked up steam, some students even standing, and Harry noticed that Dumbledore made no real attempt to end it. After a minute or so, however, the applause died down and Dumbledore gave a kindly smile to the students.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said simply, "For your confidence." He clapped his hands once. "Now! Speaking is thirsty work and listening to an old man is hungry work! Let us eat!" He clapped again and the elf-made food suddenly appeared all along the length of the tables.

Harry glanced over to Hermione, to gauge her reaction to the speech. She was frowning in contemplation, and Harry was surprised to see parchment in front of her and a quill in her mouth.

"Hermione?"

She looked over. "Yeah?"

Harry nodded at the parchment.

"Oh, I was taking notes," Hermione said, putting both quill and parchment away, "On the speech."

Harry tilted his head. "Why?"

"So we can analyze it later?" Hermione suggested.

"Why?" Harry asked again.

"We can glean bits of truth from it, and we can dissect it in front of people to show how Dumbledore subverts the truth," Hermione said.

Harry thought about that as he reached for some chicken. Speeches didn't seem the best way to prove Dumbledore's ill intentions, as his actions did that far better than words ever could. Ron hadn't been convinced by the actions, and Harry was positive he wouldn't be convinced by the speech either, no matter what Hermione found. Harry glanced over at Hermione and found her to be glaring at the food.

"Hey," said Harry, breaking into her thoughts, "Didn't you get over that whole 'elf rights' thing a couple years ago?"

"I did not _get over_ it," Hermione ground out, "I merely accepted that _perhaps_ starving myself was not the most ideal way to protest."

"So what's wrong now?" Harry asked tentatively, regretting that he had been right about where her thoughts were. Similar to eating meat near the vegetarian Patil twins, Harry felt sort of _bad_ eating elf-made food near Hermione when she was on about elf rights.

"I was thinking…" Hermione trailed off in thought as she was wont to do, "If we could… then that would mean… and eventually…" She fell silent, staring past the shepherd's pie now.

"Uh, Hermione?" Harry asked, using her distraction to take a few guilt-free bites of chicken, "You in there?"

"Oh! Sorry." She smiled apologetically and pulled over some steamed vegetables. "I was just thinking that the Right Side would be a fantastic thing for these oppressed groups."

Harry swallowed his mouthful, thinking about that. Elves had magic that even wizards didn't understand. They could Apparate inside Hogwarts, and didn't even have to speak when casting their magic. And, as Hermione said, they were obviously oppressed, though whether or not they wanted it that way was up for debate.

"And we don't even have to stop there!" exclaimed Hermione, "We can reach out to any of the creatures deemed to have 'near-human' intelligence by the Ministry."

Harry had a sudden mental image of an elvish cavalry, riding centaurs, supported by Veela swooping over the battlefield, throwing fireballs everywhere, men in black robes with skull masks running this way and that, utterly undone by this new foe. He grinned. "That's amazing."

Hermione chuckled. "Glad you like it."

"The biggest thing is, as always," Harry said slowly, scanning Hermione's face for any sign of anger, "Whether or not the elves actually _want_ to be freed."

Hermione snorted. "They do. Wizards kill and maim them by the truckload, they'd be far more like to reproduce if they were unshackled. What sort of race _naturally_ chooses…to…" She trailed off.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, lifting a hand in front of her face, "Hermione!"

"Igottago," Hermione said, standing abruptly and dashing out of the Great Hall.

"But your first-" Harry called after her, "Years..." he muttered when she was definitely out of ear-shot. It probably wasn't a big deal. There were other prefects and _one_ of them had to be more responsible than Ron.

Harry was well on to his second plate of food when he felt a weight settle onto the bench next to him. He glanced over and saw, to his vague surprise, Katie Bell sitting next to him. He'd never had much contact with the older girl, despite being on the Gryffindor Quidditch team with her. She'd kept to herself, mostly, as had Harry, and now that he thought on it, Harry couldn't really remember her being around anyone except Alicia and Angelina. Perhaps that was just a natural case of mostly seeing her around practice, perhaps she was socially disinclined. Either way, Harry prepared himself to be friendly and open.

"So, congrats, I suppose," the older girl said with a bit of reluctance.

 _That_ wasn't what Harry was expecting. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"You being captain." Katie looked down at the table. "I guess it was the obvious choice."

"Captain?" Harry's mind worked furiously, then finally clunked out an answer. "Quidditch captain?!"

Katie looked over with a frown. "Yeah, what else would I be talking about?"

" _I'm_ the Gryffindor Quidditch captain?!" Harry blurted out, his heart suddenly racing, "Since when?!"

"Since this summer?" suggested Katie sarcastically, "When else?"

Harry's mind kicked into overdrive, reviewing his summer over and over, looking for anywhere he could have missed that crucial bit of information. "Are you sure?" he asked, trying to buy time.

"Well, _1_ didn't bloody get it," said Katie, rolling her eyes, "And I doubt Ron would either. Bloke's fine when he's on form, but… Yeah…"

Harry nodded. "Do you know how I should have gotten it?"

Katie pursed her lips. "Well, Angelina got hers with her exam results."

Harry briefly remembered giving a cursory glance at his grades when he'd received them. They hadn't seemed important under Greysight and so he'd tossed them after registering the information. He hadn't even checked to see if there was a second page. Harry felt his stomach drop. "Oh."

Katie raised an eyebrow. "Oh? That's it?" She chuckled dryly. "What, Potter, did you not even _look_ at your grades?"

"No no," Harry said, trying to maintain his dignity, "I definitely saw them. I just, er, chucked the letter after seeing them."

Katie's eyes went wide. "You _chucked_ the letter? Potter, that's where your booklist was! How could you just _chuck it_?"

Harry shrugged. "Hermione."

"Ah." Katie nodded slowly. "So you don't know what sort of training plan you're going to implement? You haven't thought about the precarious balance of micro versus macro strategy?" At Harry's dubious look, she continued, "I suppose you don't even know when you're going to have try-outs?"

"I just learned about this, ok!" Harry exclaimed, defensive, "We'll probably hold try-outs, what, at the end of the second week?" He blinked. "Isn't that when we normally have them?"

Katie nodded. "Least you don't seem _totally_ out of your depth."

"Er, do captains delegate assistants ever?" Harry asked, after thinking for a moment.

Katie considered that. "Don't see why not. What, you want to get Ronald to bail you out of your fumble?"

Harry shook his head. "Somehow I don't think he'd be up for that. We had a bit of a… falling out over the summer."

"Hermione?" Katie asked sharply.

Harry shrugged helplessly. "It was a misunderstanding and he was already peeved at me before that."

"Oh." There was an awkward pause as Harry took a bite of cold chicken. "I'm sorry. Losing friends, even temporarily, is hard."

Harry nodded.

"So!" Katie started again, a little too brightly, "Who were you thinking of asking?"

"You, honestly," Harry said, thoughtfully chewing, "As you demonstrated, there's not really anyone else." He swallowed and grinned at Katie. "So, Miss Bell, how _should_ I balance micro versus macro play while still maintaining a relatively understandable game-plan for the large quantity of beginners who will probably not have any experience with our level of Quidditch?"

* * *

As Harry made his way to the dungeons after dinner, his head was spinning with Quaffles and Bludgers and formations and any number of things he'd never known went into Quidditch. He and Katie had been talking for at least an hour after everyone else had left the Great Hall. Harry's many long seasons of sitting on a broom far-removed from the rest of the action was coming back to bite him. The more Katie talked about it, though, the more comfortable Harry felt about the whole situation. From a certain perspective, it wasn't _too_ much different from running the DA and figuring out what drills to run. Couple that with having Katie and Ron, who would likely come around after a few months if past experience was any indication, on the team, and Harry was probably in a good place. It would be an adjustment, but the different ways of thinking was exciting. In fact, Harry would be-

"Potter?!" squeaked a voice.

Harry blinked and saw Malfoy standing in front of the door to Snape's office, obviously just coming out of it.

"Potter," said Malfoy, clearing his throat, "What the devil are you doing here?"

"Oh, erm..." Harry had quite forgotten to come up with an excuse. "Er, my Potions O.W.L. was only an EE and I was going to petition Snape to let me in."

"First off, he wouldn't let a _Gryffindor_ in," Malfoy sneered, "And second off, Severus is the Defense professor now. Or hadn't you heard?"

Harry groaned inwardly. That had _just happened_. "Well, Slughorn doesn't know me," Harry said, going in a different direction, "So I was hoping Snape would give me a…" Harry paused, knowing he'd lost utterly. "Recommendation."

Malfoy's eyes widened in shock. "You're thick, Potter, but I would have thought even _you_ would know that to be a fool's errand. Well," Malfoy chuckled, "I suppose it fits then!"

Harry's cheeks burned.

"In any case, Potter, Severus moved," Malfoy said, "Slughorn moved into his old office." He smirked. "Not that I care a whit for your scholastic career, Potter, but Slughorn has a bit of a reputation for letting things slide for famous or well-connected people." Malfoy's lip curled into a sneer. "No matter how _unworthy_ they are."

Harry grimaced. If he got into N.E.W.T. Potions now, it would look like Slughorn only let Harry in on account of fame. _That_ couldn't be good. On the other hand, Harry needed to get into N.E.W.T. Potions if he wanted to stand any chance against Voldemort. Polyjuice, alone, would be a necessity in any sort of guerrilla engagement, and who knew what other incredibly powerful spells were reserved for N.E.W.T. classes? Surely that sort of thing was worth losing a little face with the Slytherins.

"Mr Malfoy, there was another thing," said Slughorn, er _Professor_ Slughorn, coming out of the office, "I want you to-" He blinked at Harry. "Harry, my boy! Good to see you."

"Er, hello Professor," Harry said, looking away, not wanting to seem too familiar.

"You look better than you did over the summer," said Professor Slughorn, crushing Harry's plan like a giant's foot meeting a Sugar Quill, "You look healthier."

"Probably something to do with Mrs Weasely's cooking, sir," Harry said, cursing all forms of fate in his mind.

Malfoy was grinning like Christmas had come early.

"What were you boys talking about?" asked Professor Slughorn, looking from one to the other, "I wouldn't want to interrupt."

"Er," Harry said, "You know what? It's not important."

"What?" asked Malfoy with mock surprise, "Potter, this is a perfect opportunity to talk to Professor Slughorn about getting into N.E.W.T. Potions!"

Professor Slughorn tilted his head, "What's this, Harry?"

Harry sighed. "I only got an EE on my Potions O.W.L., you see, so I won't be able to take the N.E.W.T."

"Rubbish, my boy," said Professor Slughorn, "EE is perfectly acceptable! Got an EE myself back in the day."

"But sir," said Malfoy, "Professor Snape said-"

Professor Slughorn turned and raised a dangerous eyebrow at Malfoy. "Am I Severus?"

Malfoy coughed. "Er, no, sir, but shouldn't the requirement be the same?"

"In any N.E.W.T. subject, EE is the standard requirement," said Professor Slughorn, "But any Professor may increase the barrier to entry, should they feel it necessary." He frowned pensively. "I always thought Transfiguration should be an O requirement, for example, McGonagall probably wouldn't have a job then! Anyway, there you have it."

"But-but..." Malfoy sputtered.

"Mr Potter is perfectly eligible for N.E.W.T. Potions," said Professor with a hard stare at Malfoy, "And I won't hear anything different, will I?"

"No, sir," squeaked Malfoy.

"Not from you, not from anyone," said Professor Slughorn, "Am I clear?"

"Yes sir!" said Malfoy, eyes wide, unused to being threatened.

"Off you scoot then," said Professor Slughorn.

Malfoy dashed off, not even pausing to ask what the Potions Master had originally wanted to ask.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, "I wouldn't want people to think I was only in Potions because I was famous."

"The son of Lily Potter scraping through Potions because of fame?" Slughorn chuckled, shaking his head, "Blasphemy, I tell you." He sighed. "Slytherin really has gone to the dogs if that _boy_ was the best they have to offer."

Harry tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Well, aside from his general lack of subtlety," Professor Slughorn said, glaring down the hallway Malfoy had dashed down, "He made himself responsible for _any_ rumor about you being unworthy of N.E.W.T. Potions. Amateur mistake."

Harry nodded slowly. "There actually may be someone you'll be interested in, sir."

"Oh?" asked Professor Slughorn with a touch of surprise, "And who may that be?"

"Blaise Zabini. He was at the lunch." Harry thought for a moment. "He has a famous mother, I think."

"I know him," said Professor Slughorn, frowning slightly, "I thought him to be rather boring until he put you on the spot like that." The older man snapped his fingers. "Ah, so you're repaying that favor!"

Harry shook his head. "That wasn't a favor. That was a test, and also a way to make McLaggen look bad."

"A singularly easy feat," chuckled Professor Slughorn dryly, "All the same, well done." He frowned and thought for a second. "Why are you telling me about him? What do you owe him?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing. I just thought he'd be interesting to you." After a pause, Harry added softly, "He welcomed me to the game."

Professor Slughorn raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps he _is_ worthy of my interest. What do you know of the game, Harry?"

"Nothing," Harry said truthfully, "Though I have some ideas7."

"Exactly." Professor Slughorn turned back to his office door. "I'll see you later, Harry. Run along to Snape's office now."

"How did you know that's where I was going?" Harry asked in shock.

"I didn't," smirked Professor Slughorn, "But now I do."

* * *

Harry arrived at Snape's office some time later and knocked on the door. After a moment, Harry heard a "Yes?" from inside and called out, "It's me." After a moment, he heard "Who?" and replied, "Harry."

The door opened a crack and Snape peered out. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk about plans for the year." Harry suddenly wondered when Snape went to bed.

"Honestly, Potter," said Snape, shaking his head and swinging the door all the open, " _What_ will people think when you show up _to my office_ the first night everyone's back?"

Harry grimaced. "I just wanted to talk over plans as soon as possible."

"I _thought_ you understood the look I gave you at dinner," drawled Snape, walking over to his desk and sitting behind it, "I _thought_ that I would just call you to my office on some pretense and we would talk then."

Harry stifled his defensive response.

" _Now_ I have to manufacture some summons _after the fact_ ," sighed Snape, pulling out a quill, parchment, and his wand and setting the quill to writing, "And that's _always_ less convincing."

Harry resisted sighing loudly. He _did_ probably deserve this.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "At least no one saw you coming here."

Harry grit his teeth.

" _Right_?" Snape whispered dangerosuly.

"Malfoy saw me going down to the dungeons," Harry blurted out.

Snape gave no reaction to Harry's blunder except for a brief flare of the nostrils. "What happened?" he asked quietly, his voice silky and dangerous.

"I thought your office was down there, as did Malfoy, apparently," Harry said, "And he came out just as I got there. He asked why I was there, I lied and Professor Slughorn backed me up."

Snape nodded slowly. "And you wouldn't _dare_ hide details from me, would you?"

"Sir, I'll deal with Malfoy," Harry said brusquely, "He's not something to worry about."

"I should think not," said Snape bitterly, "Your most persistent enemy here seeing you attempt to speak with your least favorite professor on the _first night of the year_. He probably won't have _any_ further questions about _that_."

"Professor Slughorn scared him off," said Harry, only a little defensive, "Malfoy was stung pretty hard by that."

"And that's enough to never look into it again?" asked Snape, "Honestly, Potter, Malfoy _despises_ you. Words, no matter how harsh, won't keep him away for long."

Harry began to reply, but stopped and nodded. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll do better in the future."

"I should hope so," said Snape, "If you can't lie well enough to convince _Malfoy_ , Dumbledore is well beyond your scope."

Harry nodded. "You're right. I need to be better."

"You do." Snape seemed somewhat mollified. "So let's establish some ground rules."

Harry nodded.

"If I need to speak with you," Snape repeated, somewhat patronizing, "I will summon you to my office on some trumped up pretense. No one will question me giving you detention for no reason."

Harry snorted. "All according to plan, I suppose."

"You give me too much credit," Snape replied, "Up until the end of last year, I despised you." He thought for a moment. "I'm not _entirely_ sure that's changed."

Harry sighed.

"And if you need to talk to me," Snape continued, "Give me lip in class or be rude to me in the halls."

"Should we establish some way it'll be different from me just normally being hostile to you?" Harry asked, only a little sarcastic.

Snape thought about that. "I suppose." After a bit more thought, he continued, "You make a reference to the Dark Lord and to confirm it, I'll say 'You _dare_ speak his name' and then issue you a detention."

Harry nodded. "Shouldn't be too difficult, given that you're teaching Defense now."

"Good. Now," Snape leaned back in his chair, "What was so _important_ that you had to talk to me tonight?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I've been thinking."

"Wonder of wonders," drawled Snape.

"And I've decided that I can't follow either side," Harry soldiered on, "I have to strike out on my own."

"You and what army?" asked Snape dryly.

"I'm working on that," replied Harry.

"How many others?" asked Snape.

"I-" Harry faltered, "People!"

"Exact numbers, please," said Snape in a bored tone of voice.

"Three!" burst out Harry, frustrated, "Three bloody people! Is that what you wanted to hear?! I don't _have_ an army yet because I _just_ founded my own side! I'm striking out into unknown territory because everything that already exists is too _bloody awful_ to side with comfortably! And no," he continued at Snape's expression, "I will _not_ 'control my emotions' because I'm not yelling out of childish petulance! I'm yelling out of a sense of righteous indignation!"

Snape did not react for a time.

Harry took a deep breath. "I know I don't have anywhere close to the resources of the other two, but that doesn't mean my reasons aren't legitimate."

"Do not misunderstand, Potter," Snape said slowly, "I do not question your reasons, or even doubt your resolve, quite the opposite in fact." He thought a bit longer, choosing his words. "I merely wonder as to your ability to be…effective."

Harry sighed, letting a bit more of his anger go, "Honestly, sir? So do I."

Snape blinked in surprise. "That's rather…pragmatic of you, Potter."

Harry shrugged. "My opponents are the two greatest wizards in the past five hundred years, some humility is probably warranted."

Snape let out a dry chuckle. "So you are abandoning your previous loyalties and answering to no one. You, and your merry band of Weasely and Granger, and-" He paused. "Actually, that's three, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "And whoever else will join us."

"Ah, so you look to recruit?" Snape raised an eyebrow, "And how, precisely, do you intend to win over people who likely gave their allegiance to one side or the other years ago?"

"Logic and reason," Harry said simply.

When he didn't continue, Snape gave Harry an incredulous look. "Reason. And logic."

Harry, feeling a bit stupid, said, "Well, it'll be in their own best self-interest to follow me."

Snape's eyes widened. Harry prepared for the burst of rage, but was greeted instead with a caustic chuckle. "Potter, you really are too naive. Do you not think the very _seat_ of the two Lords' power is in their ability to make others act against their self-interest?"

"Well," Harry sputtered, "I'll just show people that and they'll switch over!"

Snape looked back, stunned for a second at Harry's words. "Potter, I-" he pinched the bridge of his nose, "I'm not sure if it's _willful_ _ignorance_ or a more understandable naivete, but the world simply _doesn't work that way_."

"Maybe it can, if you give it a chance!" Harry responded, leaning forward, "Maybe if you just give people the benefit of the doubt-"

"You'll just be giving them the chance to-" After a pause. "Disappoint you." Snape's voice was quiet and silky, though somehow Harry felt no menace from it.

Harry began to reply, but something in Snape's face made any reply seem pointless. Harry closed his mouth and tried to search the older man's face for a clue as to how to continue. Snape seemed to be lost in memory, staring past the wooden desk and into the misty past. Harry thought back to his brief intrusion into Snape's history the previous year. The man had obviously not enjoyed his childhood, something Harry could relate to, and his school years had not gone much better. No wonder he was so cynical.

Then again, there probably wasn't much Harry could say to help. Snape had been dealing with all of this for years and it would be the height of folly for Harry to think he could fix everything by saying the right words. With a shudder, Harry thought back to his previous year and how stubbornly miserable he had been; how he'd ignored his friends' help and support, how he'd been so stuck on Dumbledore and being ignored, and, most importantly, how he'd insisted on bottling up all of his feelings to inadvertently allow Voldemort to worm his way in.

"You know, sir," Harry said, breaking the silence, "The right people won't betray you."

"I know," said Snape bitterly, "Because I betray them."

Harry didn't quite know how to respond to that. "You haven't betrayed me."

Snape froze for a second, then looked sharply up at Harry. His mouth impotently tried to form a reply, but soon closed. Finally, he said simply, "Thank you, Harry."

Granted, that wasn't _entirely_ honest as Snape _had_ betrayed Harry by extension, but then it was really Voldemort who had caused the whole thing anyway. It was important to attribute blame where it truly lay. Besides-

"Potter," said Snape brusquely, "It is late. What else must we discuss?"

Harry blinked out of his thoughts. "Right! I just wanted to work out some longer-reaching plans. Figure out what I should be doing this year."

"What are your goals, short and long term?" asked Snape, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

"Well, recruitment is probably the most important short-term goal." Harry thought for a second. "But I want people to join me because they should, not because of my fame or whatever."

"Although noble," drawled Snape, "Avoiding a cult of personality is incredibly impractical. You can be assured neither of your opponents restrict themselves in this way."

"I know," said Harry excitedly, "And that's exactly the point."

Snape opened his eyes to frown. "I thought you were going to be pragmatic about this."

"I am. My principles are the only thing separating me from the other two," Harry said, "They're my _whole appeal_."

Snape nodded slowly. "I understand, though I obviously disagree." He closed his eyes again. "You still retain your clandestine club from last year?"

"Er," Harry thought about that, "I suppose Hermione can still activate the Galleons."

"Galleons?" Snape inquired.

"She put the Protean Charm on them and rearranged the numbers to refer to dates," explained Harry, "It's how we communicated."

Snape nodded. "I assumed you'd use Sickles with that set up. Some people cannot afford Galleons. It is no matter." He opened his eyes and leaned forward. "I suggest that you set that club up again. It is probably the best way to remind everyone of your principles and further instill loyalty through teaching and drilling."

Harry blanched. "Isn't that a little…manipulative?"

Snape sighed. "If it helps, Potter, you'll also be legitimately helping them to get better at casting." He cleared his throat. "It's important to be aware of all consequences of an action, even if some of the consequences are distasteful. _Especially_ if some of the consequences are distasteful."

Harry nodded slowly. "I just don't want to become Dumbledore."

"I know, Potter," said Snape softly, "I know."

Each lapsed into their own thoughts. Harry again thought of Hermione's question about big dreams versus small dreams. If his dreams were big, that probably meant that Harry intended to actually topple both Dumbledore _and_ Voldemort. Somehow create a scenario where Harry, a sixteen year old, was somehow able to single-handedly defeat the two most powerful wizards in the past five hundred years. Big dreams indeed.

Smaller dreams were harder to identify. Perhaps Harry could be satisfied with just cementing his own side as a viable alternative. He could create a haven where people dissatisfied with things could gather and vent, a place where new ideas would be allowed to grow and people would be valued for who they were, rather than what they could quantitatively offer. That was attractive. But there was nothing stopping the larger, more established sides coming and destroying the necessarily weaker third way.

Harry sighed in frustration. Both sizes of dream were impractical and crazy.

"Was there anything else, Potter?" Snape asked dryly, "Or do you wish to merely take up space in my office all night?"

"Do you think you might join my side, sir?" Harry asked tentatively.

"No," said Snape casually, "It doesn't benefit me to do any more than simply advise you. I will not take any actions to destabilize my current, extremely precarious, position with the two Lords."

"Oh," said Harry, a bit stung, "I…understand."

"You are dismissed, Potter," said Snape, not unkindly.

Later, in his bed, Harry thought about what Snape said for a long time. At about one in the morning, Harry finally fell asleep.


End file.
